


Vampire Weekend

by Lunar_Resonance, PeregrineWilliams



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: F/M, Vampire AU, mostly puns, reverb 2017, reverse resonance bang 2017, which of course means lots of morbid humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-03 20:00:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11539410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunar_Resonance/pseuds/Lunar_Resonance, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeregrineWilliams/pseuds/PeregrineWilliams
Summary: Growing up in Death City means a lot of things. For Maka, it means mistaking the Grim Reaper for Santa as a kid, hearing a lethal amount of death-related puns and receiving monthly newsletters from the Halloween cult down the street. Maka believes in none of it; that is until an encounter with a Dracula wanna-be with a bite far worse than their bark changes her mind.In shock but not down for the count, Maka returns to the scene of the crime to find her attacker, garlic cloves in tow. However, the vampire she captures is the complete opposite of the vampire who tried to kill her. Soul is sardonic, awkward, and averse to prey that fights back. With some slight coercion, Maka convinces him and Kid, Soul's vampire roommate with a flair for eyeliner and dramatics, to help her track down her attacker and put an end to him once and for all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for Reverb 2017, which you can find on tumblr. I was super fortunate to work with Peregr1ne (who you can find on tumblr, whose art can be seen within the fic and that I also will link on my profile page when he posts it!); Rogha (also on tumblr and FFN) wrote another fic based on the art! And with that, happy reading~

From her table perched on the border of the dance floor, Maka watches as the Grim Reaper carefully sashays around two werewolves making out in the middle of the floor. She takes a sip from her drink, pokes away the bloody eyeball bobbing up and down unblinkingly against her lips, and listens as the music transitions into an overly synthesized version of the Monster Mash.

Death Dive is a Frankenstein’s monster of every bad horror movie trope Maka has ever seen and then some; from the cheesy death screams and overuse of strobe lights at the entrance of club to the fact that there is no wall she has seen so far that isn’t decorated with some form of scientifically inaccurate blood splatter, the club clearly had not just taken its Halloween theme and beat it to death but had ran it straight into the grave, even by Death City’s standards. Though the club’s patrons don’t seem to be complaining-the werewolves are still glued at the lips and she does have to admit it is something of a feat to be able to sway in perfect time to the beat of the music in suits like those (although she couldn’t make out the gleam of any zipper even with the glow of the giant disco balls overhead.)

The Grim Reaper disappears into a small horde of zombies as a voice too close to Maka’s ear murmurs, “Wanna neck, baby?”

The vampire standing next to her grins smugly as she starts. Maka eyes him scornfully-it’s hard to make out much in the semi-darkness of the seating area but she spies plastic fangs perched lopsidedly on the man’s teeth, a cloak of cheap stretchy material that reeks of cologne, and slicked back hair that nearly gleams with the amount of gel holding it in place.

She barely resists the urge to laugh in his face-she’s been hit on by too many supernatural creatures tonight to be fazed. “Sorry, I have a stake kink.”

The vampire doesn’t answer but his smile grows wider. Turning back in her seat, Maka picks up the pen next to her notepad. “I’d also consider finding better pick up lines.”

It takes a moment of staring down at the page, filled with half-thoughts and scribbled-out ideas, for her to realize a presence still weighs heavily to her side.

Scowling, Maka glares up to empty air. A frown twists her mouth as she scans the area around her but the vampire is nowhere to be seen. After another moment of searching, she shrugs and returns to contemplating the notes in front of her; so far, her best ideas comprise of a review of the club (unoriginal, Kim would throw the article back at her in a heartbeat) or a parody interview with a vampire (tempting for the title though finding said vampire who isn’t creepy or completely wasted is proving to be a challenge.)

Putting her pen down, Maka rubs her temples as she thinks of her deadline to Kim in the morning and bites back a sigh. When she accepted her job as the writer for the lifestyle and entertainment column of the Daily Death, she had envisioned creating a column that would challenge and expand the tastes of her readers but apparently the readership of the Daily Death did not consider a thematic dissection of Pride and Prejudice as entertainment.

But it was the debacle with her critique of Dante’s Inferno, of which many Death City residents still ascribed as truth to the point that one reader had picked the written equivalent of a screaming match, that broke the skeleton’s back. Maka’s suggestion to embark on their own personal vacation to the rings of hell probably would have warranted her immediate dismissal in any other place, but in Death City, it resulted in the biggest spike in readership and a debate among readers over which circle was best to visit. The headache the whole experience caused finally pushed Maka into accepting her co-editor Jackie’s suggestion to go for something slightly more modern and lighthearted but it had been a fatal mistake in asking what exactly she should do while Kim, their boss, was in the room.

Which was why Maka found herself here, on a Wednesday night, watching Death City residents in brightly colored spandex and too realistic costumes that looked like they were extracted from the bowels of the internet celebrate Halloween in January.

Picking up her pen again, she taps it against the tabletop. Her college roommate, Patti, who also worked at Death City Tribune as a photographer, had a sister who worked at Death Dive as a bartender and pulled strings to get them in as soon as the club opened, which Maka hadn’t thought would be a problem until she saw the line curling around the length of the building.

That was also when she found out about Death Dive’s costume requirement, every single person in line dressed as some kind of supernatural creature. Patti, in her biblically accurate angel outfit with eight pairs of glowing wings fanning out over her head, had been the most impressive and used the extra materials in her car to transform Maka into a more commercially accepted version of an angel though it had garnered a skeptical look from the zombie bouncer as he let the two into the club.

Maka’s makeshift halo gently rains down in a haze of edible glitter as she tugs it off and tosses it on the table, looking back to the dance floor where the horde of zombies has taken over. In the background, the Monster Mash has switched back into overly remixed dubstep that pulses in her ears and throbs in her bones with a relentless pounding, which makes it a slight miracle that she hears Patti call her name before she feels a hand squeeze her shoulder.

Maka gets hit with a faceful of feathers as Patti slides into the seat next to her, drink in hand. “Having fun?” she chirps.

“That’s subjective.”

The eight pairs of wings attached to the back of Patti’s costume quiver as she takes a sip of her drink. “Are you subjectively having fun?”

Snorting, Maka finishes off her drink. “I’m having something.” If she wasn’t running on a week of little to no sleep, she might have joined Patti on the dance floor but there’s been something in her dreams that keeps waking her up and it hasn’t gone away no matter how much meditation music she plays before bed. “The fursuits I’ve seen are impressive.”

“Expensive at least.” Patti snags the notepad from under Maka’s hand. “Ten ways to establish tongue dominance,” she reads aloud. “Sounds like plenty fun to me.”

“It’s that or speculating how many people in Death City have a monster kink,” Maka says as she leans forward and snatches the notepad back.

“Hey,” Patti complains, pursing her lips in a pout. “What was that about Halloween cult? I’ve never heard of that.”

“Half of the people in here think they’re descendants of the town witch that got burned at the stake two hundred years ago, Patti.”

“So do you,” she points out.

“I have the family tree to prove it,” Maka counters, stuffing the notepad into her bag. “And _I_ don’t believe she was actually a witch.”

“Even after growing up in a place like Death City?”

“Especially then.” Maka casts a look towards the dance floor where the zombies have spread their takeover to the DJ box and glances back at Patti when she doesn’t reply. “Do you?”

One of the rays from the lights hanging above the dance floor illuminates Patti’s face temporarily; the usual airy cheeriness on her face is replaced by an expression that Maka can’t read. Then, it disappears and Patti shrugs. ”I believe what I see.”

It’s not an answer but Maka doesn’t press it. She checks her phone. “Well, what I see is that it’s nearly eleven-thirty and if I want to get this article to Kim before she gets into her office tomorrow, I’d better get going.”

“The night is only starting,” Patti protests.

“I told you I would become a cat lady before twenty five.” Maka rises, shaking out the exhaustion from her muscles. “The night’s usually ended for me and Blair by now.”

“You need to live a little.” Patti’s wings slap Maka in the face again as she sticks out her tongue and nudges Maka’s elbow. “You’re not even going to get to see the costume contest.”

“I think I’ve seen more than I’ve ever needed to by now but you can send me videos of the best ones.” Maka swings her bag over her shoulder. “When are you heading home?”

The guardedness in Patti’s voice returns. “Liz got spooked after her shift last week,” she answers. “So I’m going to wait till she’s done for the night.”

The light bounces off of the holographic brand for Death Dive on Liz’s jacket as she serves a patron their drink as Maka glances towards the bar. She’s met Liz a few times but the other Thompson sister was always too busy bouncing between the three jobs to pay for Patti’s tuition for the two to get to know each other well. One of the few things that became apparent during the times Maka hung out with Liz was her overwhelming fear for the supernatural. Liz had kept her eyes covered for the entirety of Ghostbusters when she’d come over to Maka and Patti’s dorm once

She looks back at Patti. “Let me know when you get home, okay?”

“You too.” Patti drains her drink. “Want me to walk you out?”

Maka shakes her head. The exhaustion from her sudden case with insomnia is beginning to itch at her eyes and she needs to be alone before she snaps. “Stick with your sister, it’s fine.”

Her huff tells Maka she’s not happy and she speaks before Patti can argue further. “I’m not parked too far away,” she insists. “You’ll have to wait in line if you leave.”

“Alright.” Patti envelopes her in a rib-crushing hug before releasing her and inching back to the dance floor. “But next time we do this, we’re having real fun,” she calls.

Maka waves in reply and heads for the exit, wincing as the canned screams blare from the hidden speakers by the doors as she leaves.

The line to Death Dive has only gotten longer and rowdier from when Maka arrived. From somewhere in the middle of the line comes the unmistakable sounds of a fight breaking out. Like blood clotting a wound, a crowd instantly forms, creating a halt in traffic. Maka grits her teeth-her car is in the same direction as the fight but as someone barely a couple inches over five feet, a fight against any kind of crowd is doomed from the start.

Biting back a sigh, she spins around and heads in the opposite direction; she spied an alleyway running alongside Death Dive earlier and she’s too exhausted to care about the warnings her common sense is chiding her with.

Her stomach rumbles as she walks and she digs in her bag, pulling out one of the leftover breadsticks she saved from the restaurant she went to for dinner. She takes a bite and sighs contentedly as she turns into the alleyway. It doesn’t have much light but it’s enough for Maka to see the other end and she walks quickly, running through article ideas as she chews.

Maka doesn’t register she’s in the air until she collides into a brick wall.

A familiar voice presses against her ear as a pair of hands forces her up from the ground and wraps around her throat. Eyes, glowing and red, drill into hers. “How about joining me for a bite?”

She sputters for breath, jamming her knee up but the man from the club doesn’t even flinch and grins instead. The scream in Maka’s mouth dies as she sees the fangs protruding from his mouth and the blood smeared across his face.

Actual fangs connected to his mouth. Real fangs stained with blood.

The metallic scent of blood clogs her nose as he speaks again. “Is that a better pick-up line for you?”

Maka wrenches herself away, stumbling to the ground as the vampire steps back.

Behind her, the vampire laughs. “Guess not.”

 _Vampire, it’s a vampire_ , her mind screeches at her. _I know,_ she screams back as she scrambles to her feet. A million thoughts fly through Maka’s head as she watches the vampire watch her. Maybe vampires were like sharks and would back off when punched in the nose, her mind suggests.

The grin on the vampire’s face widens and she swallows. Perhaps running was the better idea.

She’s moved all of two steps before Maka feels herself get flung back on the ground, wheezing as the breath is knocked from her lungs.

Instinct takes over even as her mind screams certain death, one of her feet connecting with the vampire’s stomach as the vampire bends over her and presses a hand against her throat. She goes still as his fingernails dig painfully into her skin.

The vampire runs a finger down her face with his other hand. “Now I think you’d be really fun to play with,” he says, dragging his finger down to her collarbone. “But, unfortunately, I’m on a bit of a time crunch.”

Anger slices through Maka’s fear; she plunges her hand into her purse, somehow still on her arm, and seizes the first thing that her hand touches and slams it squarely in the vampire’s face, fingers pushing against the flesh underneath his eyes.

An enraged scream claws at her ears for a moment. “You bitch!”

Her head cracks against the pavement and darkness swallows her vision momentarily as the weight on top of her vanishes.

Paralyzed, Maka coughs, gasping for breath. In the back of her mind, she braces herself for the vampire’s return but she can register nothing but the dull thud of the club’s music and the throbbing ache in her head even after her breath slows and her heart quiets.

As shock begins to release its hold on her, she lifts her arm to see what had warded away the vampire.

Maka stares blankly at the breadstick in her hands before recognizing it for what it is.

Garlic bread.

For another few seconds, she continues to stare at the breadstick. Then, a tiny giggle bubbles up from her mouth. Another laugh, wild and breathless, follows, one after the other, until her body is shaking with laughter.

She laughs until her throat begins to ache and then she pushes herself into a sitting position, hiccuping and wiping at her eyes. “Holy shit.”

Pain pricking up and down Maka’s back cuts through the haze in her head; in her mind, she sees again the flash of fangs and feels the sensation of hands around her neck dance across her skin as the vampire’s words crawl in her ears.

The last of the laughter falling from Maka’s lips disappears.

“Shit.”


	2. Chapter 2

“I’m not one for making personal judgements,” Jackie says when Maka answers the door. “But garlic is generally meant to be cooked.”

Maka lets the door swing open. “You run a weekly editorial on the fashion tragedies of Death City and you once said you were only living out of spite.”

She cedes with a half-shrug. “If living is my way of flashing the middle finger to the world, then I’m going to do it well.” Jackie bats away the hand attempting to drape a necklace of garlic identical to Maka’s around her neck, stepping into the apartment. “Garlic cloves are not lesbian culture.”

“And barging into my home at eight in the morning is?”

“I figured you were hungover when you texted me that you were sick so I wanted to make sure you weren’t suffering too badly.”

As Jackie walks in further, Maka pokes her head out into the hallway, sweeping her gaze carefully up and down before closing the door. Pulling off the garlic necklace, she tosses it on the counter separating the living room from the kitchen and turns to see Jackie surveying the living room with a critical eye. “It looks like a tornado had a baby with a conspiracy theorist’s basement.”

“I was slammed with inspiration last night,” Maka answers, which isn’t entirely untrue.

Jackie’s gaze moves from the various books strewn across the floor and the couch to the whiteboard Maka dragged out from underneath her bed last night. “Vampire protection rituals?”

“It’s research,” Maka replies evenly, moving to erase the board with her sleeve. A sharp tongue and a fearless attitude towards voicing their opinion, no matter how strong, along with a penchant for the pumpkin muffins from the bakery down the street had been the foundation for her and Jackie’s friendship but that doesn’t keep Jackie from biting down on her thoughts.

“Research,” she repeats, unconvinced. She perches on the couch and plucks a book from the coffee table. “You do realize that you write for the entertainment section of a relatively modest newspaper enterprise? As much as they pretend, our readers are barely culturally literate on the supernatural.”

“What’s wrong with having higher expectations for our readers?” Maka takes the book from Jackie and begins collecting the other books before she can get a better look at them.

“Only the reason why you got roped into going to that club yesterday.” There’s the rustle of paper from behind Maka as she hoists a pile of books onto the bookshelf tucked in the corner of the room. “Is this Sonic the Hedgehog?”

What is supposed to be the vampire’s face leers at Maka from across the room-she’d set to drawing her attacker as soon as she came home but what looked like a deeply realistic drawing at two am looks worse than a child’s scribbles in the morning light. A flush crawls up her face and the queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach returns as she strides across the room and snatches the drawing away from Jackie.

Jackie is unruffled, swinging her hair over her shoulder with a lazy flourish. She smooths an invisible wrinkle in her cardigan. “There’s some tutorials on Deviantart if you want some tips.”

“I’m not thirteen.” Maka settles herself the old recliner positioned opposite of the couch and folds the drawing in half without looking at it again.

“No shame in starting late.” Flicking her eyes upward, Jackie’s hands still and she narrows her eyes. It’s the same look she wears when scrutinizing a particularly blatant fashion disaster. “Have you slept at all?”

Maka holds her gaze. “I went to a club, Jackie, not the library.”

“I’d actually believe you if you told me you stayed up all night in a library.” Jackie’s eyes takes on a laserlike gleam and Maka tries not to squirm. “Did everything go okay?”

In the span of an instant, Maka squashes the temptation to tell Jackie the truth; stark practicality is the hallmark of Jackie’s worldview and she was even more vocal than Maka in her disdain for the lengths in which Death City went over the top for the morbid and supernatural.

“There were a couple catcallers I ran into on the way out of the club.” She decides on partial truths than outright lies. “I got a little shook up.”

Jackie’s mouth twists in a delicate scowl that belies her ability to roundhouse kick someone in the jaw. “That qualifies justifiable cause for self-defense, you know.”

“Murder isn’t quite suitable for a resume.”

Jackie shrugs. “Call it experience with conflict resolution and there you go.”

She musters something close to a laugh and leans back into the recliner. For a few moments, it’s quiet and then Jackie rises abruptly, shrugging off her purse. “I’m going to make you some coffee from that processed garbage you like so much.”

“It’s called instant coffee.”

Jackie disappears into the kitchen.  “It’s called a crime against modern humanity.”

Maka’s laugh is real this time. She blows out a sigh when she hears the familiar whir of the coffeemaker. In Jackie’s company, the events of last night feel like a bad nightmare, horrific and unreal, but every time she speaks, her throat burns with a dull ache and she remembers.

Maka’s fingers pick at one of the threads coming loose in the recliner’s armrest. Her mind hasn’t stopped moving in circles since she stumbled to her car but she’d managed to block it out until Jackie’s arrival had confirmed that she wasn’t stuck in an unending nightmare.

She glances behind herself to the twin windows to make sure the line of salt she spread across the window sill hasn’t been broken by Blair. Salt should be enough to ward away anything evil according to the books she owned on superstition but that hadn’t kept her from going out as soon as the sun had risen to buy all the garlic in the grocery store. Silver was going to be harder to find since apparently everything she had thought as silver in her apartment was some sort of alloy except for the earrings her mother had gifted her for her last birthday.

All in all, she supposes she’s doing fairly well for having reality upended on its head; while she had lined the apartment with salt and forced a garlic clove around a very surly Blair’s neck, she remembered to call Patti when she got home and hasn’t converted herself into an overnight shut-in, which counts as a victory in her book.

“I still don’t know how you can stomach the smell of this.” Jackie’s voice makes her start as she returns from the kitchen, mug in hand.

“Maybe you’d see why if you tried it for yourself.” Maka accepts the mug, shoving her thoughts away.

“I’ll stick with my freshly ground coffee beans at the office.” Jackie retrieves her purse from the couch and tugs on the belt around her jacket. “If Kim hasn’t let the pot run cold again, that is.”

Maka swallows; the coffee’s steaming bitterness chases away some of the fog in her head and she feels slightly more grounded now. “Sorry for making you late.”

“Only a terrible friend wouldn’t make sure you hadn’t died after a night out.” Jackie waves away her thanks. “Besides, it’s not like Kim cares.”

“That’s only because it’s you.”

She rolls her eyes but a rare blush tints her face. “That may be true.”

At the door, Jackie turns back. Her face is twisted in a frown, which is not uncommon, though the concern in it is. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yes, yes.” Maka folds her arms across her chest, leaning against the doorway. “I’m fine.”

Blair chooses to come out at that moment, garlic prominent around her neck.

Casually, Maka picks up the cat and unties the clove. “Really, never better.”

* * *

At half an hour till sunset, Maka’s phone buzzes with a silent alarm.

Kim pokes her head over her cubicle as Maka switches off her computer, watching as she starts to pack up for a moment before speaking. “Sometimes I regret promising to grow this out.” She pinches a lock of bright pink hair between two fingers and frowns at it as if it personally wronged her. “I feel like a sheepdog.”

“At least you pull it off well.” Maka rummages in her purse for her keys. Kim claimed she was part fae, which Maka almost believed when she used her charm to sway a potential advertising client or someone she set her sights on.

“Such flattery.” Kim winks and rounds the cubicle to lean against the entryway. “We’re going out to Sid’s for dinner, are you coming?”

Maka finishes shrugging on her jacket and scoops up her phone to shove in her pocket, fingers brush against the pouch of garlic she’s carried with her since she discovered three weeks ago that, for some, their bite _is_ worse than their bark. “If it’s just going to be you trying to see how many times you can make Jackie blush while I sit in the corner, I’ll pass.”

Kim is undaunted, the grin on her face widening. “If you’re asking to be set up on a date, I kn-”

She cuts her off with a roll of her eyes. “The only dates I go looking for are the edible kind.”

“And?” Kim lifts a hand, scrutinizing her nails. “That means nothing in a place unironically named Death City.”

Maka grimaces. “And with that mental image, I’m going home to scrub my brain out now.” The sunlight streaming through the skylight above her cubicle is still bright but it’s taken on a reddish tint that signals a quickly approaching sunset and sets the knot of anxiety in her stomach spinning.

“What if I buy the first round of drinks instead?” Kim suggests as Maka picks up her bag. “Kilik is playing with a new band tonight and Patti’s taking pictures for our employee spotlight.”

She hesitates for a moment but a glance outside has her shaking her head. “Maybe next time.”

“I know adulthood is supposed to make us zombies and all,” Kim says as she moves to the side to let Maka out of the cubicle. “But you don’t have to be so literal about it.”

Maka’s temper rises and she twists to throw a glare at Kim. “Or _maybe_ I just want to stay in for the night.”

“Except that’s been all you’ve been doing.” Kim is unfazed by the bite in her voice. “You’ve become a hermit.”

Her words hit home like a stake in the chest but Maka still bristles. “That’s not true.”

Kim pounces with a smug smirk. “Then prove it.”

Maka chews on her tongue, stymied. She trapped herself by goading Kim but it’s what pushes her building frustration of going nearly a month of only leaving her apartment for work to snap the fear keeping her paralyzed. She’s tired of living while constantly looking over her shoulder; if the vampire comes after her again, it won’t be to the easy meal he thought she was.

Still, she makes a show out of sighing and sagging her shoulders reluctantly. Kim was known for taking miles out of inches given. “Fine, I’ll go” she concedes. “But only for a couple hours.”

Kim grins. “Good to see you’ve still got some life in you.”

* * *

Sid’s is surprisingly full when Maka arrives. The pub, known for its live music, cheap food and relative normalcy compared to other Death City pubs, generally has a steady crowd but all of the tables and booths are filled tonight. Her gaze slides to the bar where Sid, the owner, serves customers behind the bar; he’s not in his usual zombie attire, wearing a cape with dried fake blood painted at the corners of his mouth.

Taking a deep breath, she balls her hands against the fear threading through her veins. She hovers at the entrance, looking for Patti and Jackie, and jumps when Kim comes in behind her, tugging on her arm. “They said they’d be close to the stage.”

They find the two at the table in front of the far right corner of the stage, Patti sticking her tongue out in concentration as she snaps picture after picture of Kilik strumming on his bass guitar while Jackie ignores the attempts at conversation of a man standing in the middle of the aisle in favor for a giant tower of onion rings.

Kim releases her hold on Maka to bound forward and snag the onion ring out of Jackie’s hand, planting a kiss on her lips. Her voice is sugar sweet as she lifts her head. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“It’s okay.” Jackie’s cheeks are pink and her words are a little breathless as Kim sits next to her. “We already ordered dinner though.”

Maka sidesteps the man trudging away and takes the seat opposite to Patti, who hadn’t noticed their arrival at all and is barely looking up. “Oh, you made it,” she says brightly to Maka. She flicks through the pictures on the camera. “I was going to go to your apartment to get you if you’d said no.”

She rolls her eyes and grabs an onion ring from the tower. “Lucky for you that Kim strong armed me into coming then.”

“Lucky for _you_.” Patti takes aim at the stage again as the band starts a new song. “Both you and Liz have been acting weird lately.”

“It’s a full moon.”

Patti’s giggle is breathy but unamused. “If you disappear again, I won’t be as patient.” She falls silent as she becomes engrossed in her camera again and Maka leans back in her chair, hitching a breath as she tries and fails to relax. It’s a death wish to interrupt Patti in the middle of picture-taking session so she turns her attention to the stage.

Kilik, the newspaper’s other photographer, plays at the end of the stage closest to them. He regularly plays at Sid’s and other bars and pubs in the area, along with Harvar, a freelance journalist the newspaper contracts often, as their drummer, though their saxophonist, Ox, is absent.

In his stead is someone playing on a digital piano positioned at the very back of the stage. He sits perched on his seat with his head moving in time with the music, but with his face hidden in the shadows, the most she can make out are his hands, covered by black gloves, moving across the piano and glints of silver in his hair that catch in the spotlight.

The melody he plays is a little too frantic for the song but the staccato rhythm is what makes the song striking. She watches him for another second before turning back to the table conversation.

Patti and Kim are fighting for the last onion ring while Jackie has her arm draped around Kim’s shoulder. She meets Maka’s eyes as Kim uses a fork to split the onion ring in half. “Glad you came?”

“The jury’s still out.” She resists the urge to glance out of the pub’s window to the growing darkness outside. “I’ll let you know when the night’s over.”

“Fair enough.”

Dinner is delivered to their table then and the anxiety in her chest is shoved to the side as Maka realizes how _hungry_ she is. Living like she has for the past month meant the same variety of premade and home cooked meals and the taste of Sid’s specially seasoned chicken wings almost makes her weep.

She mostly listens to conversation at the table as the band onstage plays through their set. With each song, the fear that’s been clamped around her heart slowly releases its grip; it’s only when the band is finishing its first set and the last note from the pianist curls and fades into the air that Maka realizes she’s enjoying herself.

Applause drowns out everything else in the pub as the song ends, Kilik waving to the crowd while Harvar raises his drumsticks in acknowledgement. The pianist, however, gives a slight lift of his hand as he rises, pulling out a flask as he disappears backstage.

After announcing a ten minute break, Kilik hops down from the stage, Harvar behind him. He stops in front of their table, breathing heavily. He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand and grins. “Enjoying everything so far?”

“It’s clear why Sid keeps hiring you back,” Jackie says.

“Coming from you, that’s high praise.”

“I’ve got some great shots of you and Harvar,” Patti chimes in. She frowns abruptly. “But I can’t seem to get a picture of your pianist.”

“Soul isn’t a fan of pictures,” Kilik answers. He glances back at the stage to where the pianist has returned, keeping close to the back of the stage to hide behind his piano again. “Or attention in general.”

“Soul is a strange name,” Kim comments, peeking briefly at the pianist.

“So is dyeing your bubblegum pink.”

“This is natural, thank you very much.”

“I’ve never seen him before,” Maka interjects, sipping the last of her drink. “Is this is first time he’s played with you?”

Harvar answers, adjusting the sunglasses he never takes off. “He performs out in the park usually but he’s a friend of a friend so he agreed to help out when Ox got sick.”

Maka looks back at the stage. The spotlight’s shifted closer to Soul, not quite falling on him, but she can see more of him now. His hair is an unnatural shade of silver-white and the black lapel jacket he wears reaches all the way to his neck with silver buttons running down one side, giving him an old-fashioned look. She’s about to turn back to the table when he takes out the flask from before, revealing a set of too sharp teeth for an instant before he drinks.

The taste in her mouth turns to ash.

 _It means nothing,_ she tells herself in the next second, ignoring the sudden pounding in her chest. _Plenty of people have their teeth sharpened._

Although she’d never seen a human with teeth that sharp before.

She turns back around in her seat, the conversation transforms into a dull roar in her ears. It’s only when Harvar and Kilik say their goodbyes that she pulls herself out of her thoughts.

When they leave the table, Maka follows them. Kilik stops when she calls his name while Harvar continues on. They’re close to the stage but she figures the buzz of people’s conversation in the pub.

There is no subtle way to ask the question so she tries to ask it as casually as she can. “What color are Soul’s eyes?”

If he’s puzzled by the question, Kilik doesn’t show it. “You know, I’m still trying to figure out that,” he says, scratching his chin. “Usually you can make a guess by how the contact mixes with the color underneath but his eyes are just red.”

Harvar calls Kilik then and he gives her an apologetic smile. “That’s my cue but I hope you enjoy the rest of the show.”

“Thanks,” Maka murmurs as she turns around and walks back to the table, dazed.

Jackie, whose eye never misses anything, lobs a question at her before she even sits down. “What was that about?”

It takes a moment to process the question and another to answer. “I had a question about a photo I wanted to use for an article.”

Ignoring the skepticism on Jackie’s face, she twists in her seat to stare at the pianist on the stage. It’s impossible to look away, as much as she wants to; there’s something buzzing beneath her shock but she can’t tell what it so she drains the final drops of her drink. The smart thing to do, logic screams at her from a distance, would be to leave now while he’s preoccupied and she knows exactly where he is.

Instead, she continues to sit and watch as whatever she’s feeling grows in her chest. He plays beautifully for a monster, she has to admit. It’s the kind of music she would listen to all night if it wasn’t for the other idea that’d sprung to life as soon as she saw his teeth.

As the vampire continues to play, Maka finally recognizes what she’s feeling.

Anger.

* * *

The back door to Sid’s opens to an alley almost identical to the one next to Death Dive, an irony Maka would laugh at, if her heart wasn’t in her throat.

Peeking around the corner, Maka eyes the door again. The alley dead ends into a wall so there was no other way he could leave but past her-the idea of shapeshifting floats through her mind but she ignores it-and she had left as soon as the band announced their last song, which means it was a matter of minutes before he’d come out.

She fingers the point of her earring nervously as she waits; murder, much less murder by earring, isn’t an experience she’d envisioned as a milestone in life but she’s always been adaptable.

A twinge of guilt pricks at the back of her neck but she shoves it away, hoisting up the broken fence board she’d pulled from a dumpster in her other hand. Being armed with only a board and a pair of earrings is akin to drilling through a steel wall with a toothpick. The fact wars with her tendency to plan and prepare for every detail but impulsivity and opportunity drowns out her voice of reason and she tightens her grip on the board. She was no Van Helsing or Mina Harker but under the circumstances it would have to be enough.

When the door opens, her heart gives a jolt and Maka readies to swing, plucking up her courage. She’s about to bring down the board when she registers the drunken singing.

She stops herself just in time and flattens against the wall as a middle-aged man waltz around the corner, singing brokenly in an off-key voice. He trips to a stop in front of Maka and lets out a huge sneeze.

Wiping his nose on his sleeve, he sniffs loudly as he lifts his head and locks eyes with Maka.

For a long moment, the man stares at Maka and she stares back, frozen. His gaze moves from Maka’s face to the board and earring clutched in her hands and back up to her face again. A nervous guiltiness twists in her gut. _Maybe he can read minds._

She is on the verge of saying something when the man lets out a titter and pokes her on the nose. “That’s some realistic lookin’ graffiti.” He hiccups once before continuing on his way.

Maka trails out into the middle of the alley as she watches the man tispy-walk down the rest of alley and out of sight. Closing her eyes briefly, she shakes her head and turns around to get back in position.

A pair of droopy eyes, inches from her face and glowing faintly crimson, meet hers. “Hello.”

Maka screams.

So does the vampire.

Instinct takes over in a swing that would have made Maka’s high school baseball coach proud, nailing the vampire in the stomach. He goes down immediately, which was the opposite of what she expected, flopping on his back with a rather pathetic groan.

Luck is not something Maka questions, however. Swooping down, she presses a knee to his chest, pushing the board to his throat. “Wanna go out for a bite?”

“No?” He sputters, thrashing to get free.

She pulls off her earring, grinning when he stops struggling at the sight of the silver. “Being helpless isn’t so nice, is it?” she asks. “Much better when it’s the other way around, right?”

The satisfaction Maka felt from bringing her vampire down fades when he doesn’t answer, looking up at her in a way that is too familiar.

“Well,” she demands, jostling the board a little. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

There is only confusion in the vampire’s eyes as he stares at Maka, finally choking out, “Who the hell are you?”


	3. Chapter 3

Shock silences Maka for a beat and then she glares down at Soul. “Don’t pretend you don’t know me.”

“There is precisely no pretending here,” he wheezes out. He flails again but for a vampire that knocked her into the air, the strength in his arms is surprisingly weak. “I don’t know you.”

The sincerity in his voice almost makes Maka falter before she realizes he might be trying to make her lower her guard. “You’re not going to fool me,” she hisses, pressing the board into his throat. “I don’t forget the face of the monster that tried to kill me.”

“I did not try to kill you,” he gasps. “It’s against my rental agreement.” His hands push against the board but without much force. “I don’t  _ want _ to kill you either, for the record. I’m just trying to mind my own business.”

Whatever ruse he’s trying to pull is well-thought out, she’ll give him that. “Rental agreement?”

“Technically, it is not in the formal agreement but murder doesn’t fall under the good conduct clause and it’s held up for cen-”

She cuts her teeth on the last of her patience. “I’m getting tired of your story.”

“I’m not who you’re looking for.” He cranes his head away from the silver Maka draws close to his face. “I can prove it.”

She scoffs. “How?”

“Reach into my pocket.”

Incredulity replaces her hostility. “You can’t be serious.”

“I swear on my grave.”

Keeping her grip steady, Maka reaches back cautiously.

“Other pocket.”

She grits her teeth before switching hands holding down the board. It takes a moment of fumbling to keep her balance on the knee pinning him down but finally, she extracts the flask she’d seen him drinking from onstage.

It’s obvious what conclusion he expects her to draw from it but she still asks. “This isn’t-?”

“Type O blood,” he answers. “That was obtained from a blood bank,” he adds hastily at her expression. “Somewhat illegally but no one died for it.”

Maka narrows her eyes but she loosens her grip on the board marginally. “How were you able to get access to a blood bank?”

“Trade secret.”

She snorts as she contemplates the flask for another moment. “And what point are you trying to prove with this?”

“I carry that with me wherever I go.” His hand twitches against the board. “There is no reason for me to try to kill anyone.”

“Just because you’re undead doesn’t mean you can’t make bad life choices.”

The laugh he gives is dry and sardonic. “Trust me when I say not only is it incredibly embarrassing to drink directly from a human but the work it takes to kill someone requires far more effort than I have ever made in the past two hundred years.”

Maka doesn’t reply, gaze tracing Soul’s face. There is none of the cruelty in his eyes nor any of the ruthlessness in his voice that she remembers from her attacker and, as she examines Soul more closely, the shape of his teeth is different too, more like a jack-o-lantern and less like a bat.

“I don’t trust you,” she says finally. “But I do believe you.”

His tone turns relieved. “Excellent.” 

She tucks away her earring but keeps the board pressed against him. “Though that doesn’t answer the question of who tried to kill me.”

“If you get off my sternum, I’ll help you find them,” he says.

She frowns. “And why would you do that?”

“Listen, how many vampires do you think live in the desert?” he asks. “We live out here to avoid getting the attention of those who want to put us in the grave permanently. Murder is not very inconspicuous, even in a place like this, and any vampire into that is not welcome here.”

“Altruistic.”

“But beneficial for us both,” he counters with a strained grin. “Do we have a deal or not?”

Maka’s fingers drum against the board as she runs her teeth across her bottom lip, considering.

Then she lifts her knee off abruptly and pulls the board away. “Deal.” She holds out a hand. “But if you’re lying to me, you’re going to regret the day you came back from the dead.”

“Existential dread already beat you to the punch decades ago,” he says as he takes her hand. For a supernatural creature nicknamed “the cold one”, his skin is surprisingly warm. His hair sticks up in all directions, giving him the look of someone who stuck their finger in an electric socket. “Soul.”

Biting back the sudden urge to laugh, she pulls him to his feet and lets go quickly, stepping away. “I know who you are.”

He raises an eyebrow as he picks up a bag she hadn’t noticed before. “I hate to shatter any illusions here but I don’t read minds so unless you want me to call you something like Pigtails or Murder Girl, the-”

“My name is Maka,” she interrupts, heat rushing to her face. “And it was preemptive self-defense.” She’s not sure why she feels the need to defend herself so strongly. “I wouldn’t have gone after you if I hadn’t thought you were the vampire who attacked me.”

“How comforting.” Soul finishes dusting himself off and swings the bag over his shoulder. “I thought you were aggressively hitting on me at first.”

Maka chokes internally when she remembers her first words to him. “That’s not quite my style,” she mutters. Now that the adrenaline in her veins is wearing off, exhaustion and mortification in attacking the wrong vampire takes over.

Clearing her throat, she lifts her head to look Soul squarely in the face. “Where do we start?”

* * *

“This is different from what I expected.” Maka eyes the ivy-covered apartment building they’ve driven to with skepticism, though she supposes the area of Death City called the Witch’s Lair is an apt place for a vampire to live.

“All of the castles were already taken when we arrived and the dead silence in mausoleums in the cemetery tends to get uncomfortable after awhile.” Soul pulls a key from his pocket. “Also the rent is cheap.”

The corners of her lips twitch upward. “You’ve been around for two hundred years and that’s the best you can come up with?”

“There are not a lot of people to practice my stand-up on, if you would believe that.” He lets Maka in first as he opens the door. “And even fewer who haven’t heard the same jokes over and over.”

The inside of the building has the air of a fancy hotel from the 1920’s, black and white tiles covering the lobby in a checkered pattern with a dimly lit chandelier hanging from above. Maka’s breath comes out in icy puffs. “Why is it so cold?”

“The yeti in the basement pays to have the building kept near freezing but it’s warmer upstairs.” A door to the stairwell rests in the corner of the lobby but Soul presses the button to the elevator next to it. 

“Yeti,” she repeats. “Like ice monster yeti.”

“The same.” He leans against the wall and rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm as they wait. “Going through a rough patch with his family apparently so he moved out to the desert.”

“Logical.” Maka nods slowly-the fact that supernatural creatures apart from vampires exist is slightly dizzying but not as hard to swallow as it was a few weeks ago. She mirrors Soul and leans her shoulder against the wall. “And how many vampires live in Death City?”

“You know.” Soul hesitates before answering. “Enough.”

She arches an eyebrow. “Enough isn’t a number.”

“You passed a half a dozen vampires on the way here.”

“Half a dozen?”

“Give or take.” A bell chimes and the elevator opens. “Probably give.”

“Wonderful.” Her sarcasm is diminished by a huge yawn.

Soul’s fingers pause on the elevator button. “If you’re tired, this can wait till morning.”

Waving away his concern, Maka walks into the elevator. “I haven’t been able to get much sleep since being attacked so I might as well as be doing something useful.”

He gives in with a small shrug and steps in after her.

In the two minutes of silence that it takes for the elevator to crawl up to the fourth floor, Maka opens her mouth to speak several times and closes it each time. Grudges aren’t hard to build for her, but misplaced anger drains away quickly and there’s only curiosity in her gaze as she watches Soul out of the corner of her eye. There had been an awkwardness in his words when he gave her directions to his apartment as she drove but he peeks at her too, when he doesn’t think she’s looking, and he doesn’t seem angry about being knocked flat on the ground and threatened with silver, which is simultaneously puzzling and strangely relieving.

There are only three apartments on the fourth floor but the first two doors have caution tape taped across them. “What happened there?”

Soul glares at the door in disgust. “A couple necromancers had a competition on who could raise the most dead.”

“Who won?”

“The landlord caught them before they could count and evicted them from the city,” he says. “But it took weeks to get rid of the rotting flesh smell.”

Maka stows away the information to be thoroughly examined later. “I’m not going to be ‘evicted’ for finding out the truth, am I?”

“The only rule that has to be followed is to stay discreet.” They reach the end of the hallway and Soul takes out a smaller key than the one before. “For vampires, it means getting blood in a way that doesn’t involve murder. For humans who have discovered the truth, it means keeping the secret.”

“I see.” Pitch black greets Maka as the apartment door swings open. “Well, actually I don’t.”

Soul reaches in and lets out a sigh when the sound of a switch flicking on does nothing. “My roommate does this occasionally.”

“And what is ‘this’ exactly?” Maka asks, squinting into the dark.

“He likes to take things apart to see how they work, something about finding beauty in the order of machinery. He dissected our plumbing system last time.” Soul walks into the apartment, disappearing into the darkness. “I’ll be right back.”

Maka continues to squint after him, trying to adjust her eyes, but all she’s able to make out after a few minutes of straining her eyes are darker shadows contrasted against the darkness.

A sudden flood of light blinds her temporarily and she blinks rapidly, eyes watering.

“Sorry, I should have warned you.” Soul stands in the middle of the room, flask in hand. He takes a swig and pockets it. “Turns out Kid only switched off the electric box before he left for the library.”

“Is that his real name?” There’s no sign or sound of anyone else in the apartment but she knows better by now than to trust her senses when it comes to vampires. 

“His proper name and title take half the day to pronounce so I just call him Kid,” Soul says. He takes off his jacket to reveal a black shirt with crimson zigzagging down on one side, vaguely reminiscent of his teeth. “It stuck.”

She makes a sound in acknowledgment as she begins to circle the room, enraptured by the rows of bookshelves lining the walls. There’s the weight of centuries in the apartment: the claw-footed couch and pair of matching straight-backed leather armchairs in front of a boxy television set, complete with antennae bent at the exact same place and angle, are vaguely reminiscent of her grandparents’ house. They’re overpowered by the grand piano sitting nearly in the center of the room-it’s not quite like other pianos she’s seen before, old, squarish and wooden with ornately carved wooden legs. Nestled next to the piano is a phonograph, horn polished to a shiny gleam, a record resting on the turntable.

“This is very…” She trails off as she presses a key on the piano. “Eclectic.”

“Is that meant as a compliment?”

“Possibly.” Maka peers at a bookshelf covered by glass, spying yellowing composition sheets and pages of poetry in a scrawl she assumes is Soul’s. “You write a lot of music and poetry.”

“It was my biggest hobby when I was alive but I’ve been stuck in a rut lately.” He moves to close the lid over the piano keys. “One of these decades, I’ll grow out of it.”

She recognizes a sensitive subject when she hears one. “And what does your roommate do at the library?”

“He’s a reference librarian.” Soul moves to a bookshelf behind the piano. “Keeping things organized is something he finds great joy in and he likes to pass off his war stories as fact to the history majors.” He pulls a book from the top shelf. “From personal experience, I would not ask him about the time he met the king of England, no matter how much he hints at it.”

She follows Soul to the armchairs, perching at the edge of a chair. “Why?”

“Unless you want a five hour verbal dissertation on the details of his cloak and crown, I wouldn’t do it.” He thumbs through the book and hands it to Maka. “Here.”

An unfamiliar face stares up from the page. “Who is this?”

“Not your vampire,” Soul answers, pulling the flask from his pocket again. “We have no idea what we look like and since Kid and I are decent artists, we draw portraits of everyone each year.”

Maka turns page after page, scrutinizing each faces. When she comes to the end, she snaps the book shut in frustration. “None of these are him.” She looks at Soul. “But you knew that.”

“Like I said, no vampire living here would risk being expelled by the other vampires.” Soul takes back the book. “But people change, even after they die, so it was worth trying. At the very least, it rules out Death City’s regular vampire population.”

“So what now?”

“Well-”

Soul’s reply is cut off by the low creak of the apartment door opening and closing and in walks a vampire who must be Kid, looking at a book floating in front of his face while he carries a towering pile of books in his hands. “The library closed early and I-”

Kid’s eyes slide from the book to Maka and the book shoots upward and collides with the ceiling in his surprise.

“This is Maka,” Soul says.

“And this is a rental.” Kid lets go of the books in his hands, which hover in the air, to pick up the book from the ground. The distress in his face is acute. “Do you know how much the library fines for a broken cover?”

“I took a class on mending books once,” Maka interjects, feeling guilty somehow. “I can fix it if you want.”

“Kid kept and maintained his own library when he was alive,” says Soul. He stands up and goes over to Kid and begins plucking books out of the air. “He’s being dramatic.”

“The responsibility of knowledge is a heavy one to bear, Soul.”

“It’s fourteen dollars, according to this barcode,” he says, looking at the back of the book he holds. He glances at Maka. “Kid also tried to kill me when he first met me.”

“It was a light shove and you were nowhere near the sun,” Kid counters.

“That isn’t how I remember it.”

“My condolences on your failing memory.” Kid takes the books from Soul and sends them floating in a neat pile towards the hallway leading out of the living room and out of sight.

Smoothing his shirt, he walks over to Maka. “Sir Karl Ignatius Da-”

“Or Kid,” interrupts Soul.

He offers her a hand. “Or Kid.”

Like Soul, Kid is dressed in black from head-to-toe. However, unlike Soul, Kid’s eyes are golden, highlighted by the sharpest eyeliner she’s ever seen, which is surprising for someone who isn’t able to see their reflection; his style is made of crisp, freshly pressed lines, with his white ascot ruffled just so and pants tucked neatly into leather boots that ooze of being more expensive than Maka’s rent. Maka takes his hand and shakes it, mainly to make sure once again that she hasn’t been detached from reality somehow.

“Could I offer you a refreshment?” Kid asks when he lets go of her hand. “We do have water and tea.”

Soul drifts closer to the two. “I threw out the tea last week.”

“Water then.”

“I’m all right, thank you,” Maka answers, the feeling of surrealness increasing with each passing moment. Everything she expected from visiting a vampire’s apartment has been flipped on its head. “Do you need to dri-?”

“Oh no, that would be unseemly of me,” Kid says in mild alarm. Out of the corner of her eye, Maka spies Soul pocket his flask. They stand in silence for a moment after that. Maka looks from Soul to Kid, unsure if she should speak or not. 

Kid is the one to break the quiet. “Forgive me for my straightforwardness,” he says to Maka. “But you attempted to kill Soul?”

“Yes, but I wasn’t trying to kill him exactly,” she answers, ignoring the heat rushing to her face. “I was trying to kill who I thought he was.”

Kid blinks. “I’m not sure I follow completely.”

“It’s a long story,” Maka says as she glances at Soul. He shrugs and she gives him a slight scowl before starting to speak.

When she finishes, Kid presses the tips of his fingers together, eyes becoming lost in thought.

Finally, he looks up. “I think we have a problem.”


	4. Chapter 4

The sound of a fiddle followed by the shrill screech of an accordion jolts Maka awake, sending her heart leaping into her throat. Chasing the sleep from her eyes, she blinks in confusion at the walls covered with posters of various orchestras. There is a phonograph smaller than the one in the living room tucked in one corner of the room and a boombox nearly identical to the boombox her father still keeps sitting on the dresser next to the phonograph.

“Are you awake?”

Soul hovers in the doorway, expression turning apologetic when he sees her start.

“Well, I mean obviously you are,” he says quickly, rubbing the back of his head. He wears a similar kind of jacket to the one he had yesterday, though this one has a zipper and a hood but no lapels. The tiny pin of a smiling mouth with fangs near his collar matches the red and black pattern running down his boots. “Kind of hard not to with Asshole One and Asshole Two playing over there.”

Maka sits up and runs a hand over her face. “What happened?”

“You fell asleep in the armchair while we were talking last night,” he says. “And then you snored when I asked if you could sleepdrive.”

“I’m a silent sleeper,” she mumbles in halfhearted protest. The mortification of falling asleep in a stranger’s apartment hasn’t hit her fully yet but it’s building. Her memories blank after Kid’s arrival so she must have fallen asleep shortly after. “How did I end up here?”

“Kid levitated you,” Soul says quickly. “I pulled the blanket over you.”

There’s a pause as Maka takes in her surroundings, completely awake now. “And this is your room,” she says finally.

“Yes.” Soul hasn’t moved from the doorway.

“I’m surprised by the lack of coffins.”

“They clash with the decor.”

She swings her legs over the edge of the bed. Her shoes were taken off and lined up neatly by the bed, probably by Kid. “Where did you sleep?”

“I have trouble sleeping sometimes,” Soul answers, brushing a hand through his hair before stuffing his hands in his pocket. The shadows tracing the skin under his eyes tell a different story.

Something like guilt pricks at Maka. “You should have woken me up.”

“You said that you hadn’t been sleeping so I didn’t want to interrupt,” he answers, toes of his boot tapping against the other. “And it would have been unseemly of me, as Kid would say.”

It surprises Maka that he remember what she said in passing. She stands, fighting with herself for a moment before speaking again. “Thank you.”

“Anything else wouldn’t have been right,” he says, shrugging a little. “Breakfast?”

She frowns in confusion. “Breakfast?”

“Dinner for you, technically.” He moves to one side as Maka crosses the room.

“How long did I sleep?”

“It’s nearly four.”

“In the morning?”

“In the afternoon.” They move down the hallway, though Soul stays slightly behind her. “Kid still insists on making pancakes, however.”

The slowly burning flush on her face grows. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“ _I_ cooked nothing, Kid is the one who likes to keep up with cooking shows.”

The fiddling and screeching increases in volume as they pass through the living room and enter the kitchen where Kid is sliding a perfectly circular pancake onto a plate. With his spatula, he points to a balcony door at the far side of the kitchen. “I already tried asking them to stop.”

Maka winces as the music is joined by a high keening noise. “I think I’m losing feeling in my ears.”

“That’s a banshee’s scream for you.” Soul pulls a pair of overlarge sunglasses from his pocket and tugs his hood over his head, tugging the drawstrings until his face is covered entirely. “It’s worse when it’s a full moon and the werewolves join in.” His voice comes out muffled as he stomps towards the balcony “I’ll try to shut them up.”

The music grows louder as he slides the door open, dimming when he slides it closed again.

Maka stares after him before turning to Kid, who is slicing the pancake with precise cuts. “How big is the supernatural population in Death City?”

“Most of the Witch’s Eye is populated by us,” Kid answers, handing the plate to Maka. The pancake is split into eight exact triangles, a single square of butter positioned exactly in the middle. “Though humans come through here regularly and a fair few live on the outskirts of the Eye.”

A loud growl from her stomach keeps her from refusing. “And how do they not notice?”

“Death City is an easy place to live in plain sight.” Kid joins her at the table next to the balcony window. “There is nowhere you need to hide if everyone else is just as strange, though there are a few exceptions.”

“Like murder.” She digs in her pocket for her phone. There’s a text message from Patti and the usual voicemail from her father but nothing pressing.

“Murder would be an exception, yes,” Kid agrees. He looks intrigued at the sight of the phone but doesn’t comment on it.

Poking her fork through a pancake slice, Maka sniffs at it before tasting it. Her eyes widen as she digs in-for someone who has been dead for hundreds of years, Kid’s cooking skills are far better than most people she knows.

Taking a sip of the cup of freshly bought tea Kid apparently bought while she was sleeping, Maka peers over at him. With his proper and careful nature, Kid is even less intimidating than Soul. “How did you and Soul meet?”

A thoughtful look crosses Kid’s face. “I was taking a tour of eastern Europe so it must have been sometime in the nineteenth century. There was a mob in a Romanian town I was passing through and that was when I came across Soul, freshly turned. He was the son of a lord, which made it rather noticeable when his body disappeared from his grave.” He purses his lips in slight chagrin. “That also may have been when I _lightly_ shoved him towards the mob." He adds, "But I did help him escape so that is what is important.”

“And you’ve stayed together since then?”

“Striving to keep up with fashion as a vampire is incredibly difficult and something we both care very much about,” Kid answers. “As neither of us can apply our eyeliner on our own, we found it beneficial to stick together.”

The balcony door slides open then and Soul steps through, neon purple silly string clinging to his clothes. “They said no.”

“Perhaps I should have warned you about the string,” Kid says as the music swells up again.

“That would have been appreciated.”

Maka swallows the food in her mouth. “I’m going to talk to them.”

“They still had more cans of string,” Soul warns, picking off silly string with a scowl. “They’re merciless.”

She rolls her eyes. “I think I’ll manage.”

The apartment across the way has a balcony like Kid and Soul’s, the buildings so close that the railings of the balcony aren’t more than a foot away from each other. Unlike Soul and Kid’s balcony, which only has two chairs neatly arranged underneath a giant umbrella, the werewolves have a wooden table with claw marks running across the top and chunks of the legs missing.

A burly werewolf sits on top of the table, fiddle perched on his shoulder. He has an eyepatch covering his left eye with the words “No Future” tattooed where his eyebrow should be and wears a black and white striped shirt that gives him the look of an escaped convict. Beside him sits a woman with long silvery purple hair in a polka dot dress who would look nearly human if it wasn’t for her mouth being too wide to be normal.

It’s the werewolf holding the accordion who notices Maka. “Look, the bloodsuckers brought home a meal for once,” he crows. His mohawk, dyed vividly blue, wavers in time with his words.

“That is vile, Black Star,” comes Kid’s voice from behind Maka. He and Soul step out onto the balcony. “Maka is a-” Kid breaks off, glancing at Soul.

He looks at Maka. “Acquaintance?”

“Acquaintance,” she agrees.

“And these are our neighbors, Free and Black Star,” Kid finishes. “Eruka is Free’s girlfriend.”

“Considering I come over so often for band practice, I may as well live here,” the banshee says. She sweeps her hair behind her shoulders, settling more securely next to Free.

Maka eyes the fiddle and accordion. “What kind of band are you?”

“Wolf’s Bane, otherwise known as the world’s first metal folk werewolf duo,” the werewolf called Free speaks, arm casually slung around Eruka’s waist. “Eruka is our vocals. We’re going to break it big one day and tour all over.”

“And we all can’t wait for that day,” Soul mutters.

Hiding her smile, Maka asks, “What about the full moon?”

“Just part of the act.” Free shrugs. “A lot of fans get a kick out of eccentric stuff.”

“Well,” she says, starting off the polite way, “We appreciate the effort but we need ten minutes of silence.”

Black Star scoffs. “You sent a human to shush us?”

“She volunteered,” Soul rejoins.

The werewolf appraises Maka and then he grins. His teeth are not quite as sharp as Soul or Kid’s but she can imagine what they look like on a full moon. “Tell you what, if she can beat me in an arm-wrestling match, you’ll get your quiet.”

Kid steps forward. “No need for visits to the emergency room-”

“Deal,” Maka interrupts. She vaults over the railing and onto the werewolves’ balcony in one movement.

Free and Eruka scoot off the table as Black Star and Maka take a seat from across each other. Behind her, Maka feels a presence and peers over her shoulder to see Soul. “Moral support,” he offers.

She nods and turns back.

Black Star is already in place; he wags his fingers at her and grins. “I’ll try to go easy on you.”

“So will I.” She takes his hand and weighs her movements, tensing.

“On the count of three,” Eruka announces. “One...two….”

As soon as she says three, Maka hooks her foot around Black Star’s knee and yanks forward. His head collides with the table at the same time as his arm.

Free howls with laughter. “She got you good!”

Black Star snaps his head up. “That was cheating,” he says, scowling. “You tricked me.”

“You didn’t say how I could win,” Maka says as she stands. She grins as smugly as Black Star had. “Only that I had to.”

Soul offers his hand as they cross back to his apartment. “That was impressive,” he says.

Maka takes his hand. “I took a series of self defense classes last year.”

“Remember,” she calls to Black Star. “Ten minutes.”

Soul takes the seat next to her at the kitchen table when they return inside as Kid takes out a journal from his coat pocket. “Now that we are all here and can hear each other properly, we can begin our investigation,” he says, opening the journal to a hand drawn map of Death City.

Maka eyes the map. “Did you draw this?”

“Drawing order helps my nerves,” Kid says. “Not quite up to scale but it is precise enough.”

“And why do you need it?”

“Vampires like your attacker don’t usually leave an area once they have established themselves,” Soul answers. “That means he’s probably lurking somewhere instead of moving on like most vampires who prefer feeding in the traditional sense.”

“I’ve seen the handiwork of one or two of these vampires.” Kid closes the notebook. “Which is why I will be visiting the morgue shortly to bribe the ghoul who works there to let me view their records. If this vampire has been here a while, then he’ll have left proof in his victims and we can use that to determine his hunting grounds.”

“And if he made sure to leave behind no evidence?” Maka asks when Kid adds nothing else.

“Then we put out a flyer,” says Soul as he wrestles with an especially sticky piece of silly string clinging to his hair. “Though we might get half the city calling to report on the other half.”

“If we actually do find him, do we even have a weapon to kill him with?” Maka asks.

“We have that collection of silver spoons Kid refuses to sell.”

Kid’s tone turns indignant. “It is a family heirloom and a matching set of eight.”

“An heirloom that will kill you for a second time if you touch it.”

“We can figure that out later,” Kid says in lieu of conceding the argument. “What is important is seeing if any of his scent is left in that alley.”

Maka pushes her plate away. An impatience to begin itches at her more and more the longer she is still. “Soul and I can do that.” She rises and picks up the plate, only to have it levitated out of her hands by Kid.

“There is a certain order to the kitchen,” he says by way of apology. “I’ll take care of it.”

“I wouldn’t be offended by it,” Soul says in answer to Maka’s perplexed expression. “Kid has driven himself and multiple cleaning ladies into nervous breakdowns so it’s best just to leave him be.”

“Being committed to a particular vision of order and harmony is nothing to laugh at,” Kid retorts from the sink. “Also, we’re also running low on-” Kid pauses. “Rations.”

Maka raises an eyebrow. “You can say blood.”

“Fine, blood.”

Soul scoops up the small pile of silly string on the table and dumps it into the garbage can by the refrigerator before opening the fridge door to extract a pair of ice chests printed with a fading hospital logo. “Is Stein back from his honeymoon already?”

“I called and he returned a few days ago apparently.” Placing the plate carefully on the drying rack, Kid wipes his hands on a towel. “His shift ends in an hour.”

“Thanks for the warning.” The look on Soul’s face turns hesitant as he looks back to Maka. “I shouldn’t take long if you want to wait here.” Quickly, he adds, “Or if you want to go home and meet at Death Dive, that’s okay too.”

“I can go with you. If you want.” She colors slightly at how her words sounds but curiosity isn’t something Maka can resist for long, especially given in the current circumstances. “We can use my car so it’ll be faster.”

There’s something in Soul’s eyes that she can’t quite read as he shrugs. “Only if you want to.”

Outside, Eruka's voice joins the werewolves’ music as they start up again and Maka cringes. “I think you know my answer to that.”

* * *

The last time Maka visited St. Grigori’s Hospital, she had been five and with a badly sprained wrist from falling from the top of the jungle gym on a dare. She’d been stuck in a cast for a over a month but the bully who had goaded her into climbing never bothered her again.

Nearly two decades later, the hospital shows signs of its age in the peeling paint on the outside of the building, fading hospital sign and the weblike cracks running up the sides of the building. Apparent laxness in the hospital’s upkeep also translates into minimal security, however; it doesn't take more than flashing the ice chests at the security guard at the front to get clearance into the authorized personnel area of the hospital.

“How often do you do this?” Maka asks as they pace down a hallway. Soul moves with a practiced step, sunglasses still on his face even though the hospital lights are low and dimmed.

“We usually come the first week of each month,” he answers, pausing in front of a door labeled ‘Blood Technologist’. “But he eloped last month so we had to make do with what we had.”

The door opens before Soul can knock and a man in a worn lab coat squints at the two through thick rimmed glasses. His sallow complexion and owlish stare reminds Maka of a ghost and she shifts uncomfortably as he continues to needle the two with his gaze.

“You have a human with you,” he finally says to Soul.

A twinge of annoyance flashes through Maka. “You’re human too.”

“I’m a scientist,” the man says, as if it clarifies everything. In the time since he’s opened the door, he still hasn’t blinked.

“Dr. Stein lives in the Witch’s Eye,” Soul says. “And is the wrong kind of observant.”

“Like I said, I’m a scientist,” Stein says. He lets the door swing open. “I have a transfusion to attend but you can wait inside.”

The doctor’s office is small and cramped, files perched on his desk in precarious piles. Maka picks up a glass jar resting on one of the chairs and examines the shriveled creature floating in the liquid within it.

Soul takes the chair next to her, finally pulling off his sunglasses. “He’s eccentric, I know.” His eyes glow faintly in the half-dark of the office but it’s the shadows underneath his eyes, which have grown more pronounced somehow, that she notices.

She places the jar on one of the piles on the desk. “I hadn’t noticed.”

He laughs, and it’s soft and light.

Maka glances at the door before speaking, “I feel like he could see what I was thinking when he was staring at me.”

“His great-grandmother was part fae and he inherited her eyes.” Soul’s eyes slip shut as he settles back in his chair. “We had just moved in when there was a knock on our door and Stein behind it. He has a connection to everything supernatural, apparently. But his conditions for being our provider were fair and his prices can be odd but it was easier than finding someone else.”

“Odd how?”

Soul swallows back a yawn as he answers. “He mostly charges money but he also like to…observe the things we can do.”

“Like Kid’s ability to achieve a killer wing?”

“That is my doing, thank you very much. Kid melts in the shadows sometimes and he likes to levitate things, as you’ve seen.”

She doesn’t miss his omission. “And you?”

There’s a slight pause. “I shapeshift,” Soul says carefully.

Maka sits up in her chair. “Into a bat?”

He opens his eyes and stares up at the ceiling. “I’m not going to answer that.”

“It _is_ a bat,” she says gleefully. “You’re Dracula.”

A strangled groan fills the room. “The werewolves made paper bats from the book and flooded our apartment with them once,” he says. “We found bats in the strangest places for months afterwards.”

She laughs, a mirror to Soul’s laugh from earlier. “How did you discover this hidden side of yours?”

He casts a look of mock betrayal at Maka before admitting in a mumble, “I sneezed.”

“What?”

“I sneezed,” he says in a slightly louder voice. “One minute, I was standing on the ground and then, I was hovering in the air with wings for arms.” He buries his face in his hands. “Fell to the ground out of shock,” he says. “It took ages for me to shift back and another century before Kid let me live it down.”

Muffling the laughter in her voice, she props her elbow on the armrest and leans towards Soul. From this angle, she can see his ears poking through his hair and the point they make.  “Can I see?”

His hands are still over his face. “Over my dead body.”

“So do I just step over you then?”

“Funny.” He glares at her halfheartedly through the space between his fingers. “I used to charge a dollar for it when I was in the circus.”

Maka rests her chin on the back of her hand. “So if I pay you a dollar, will you show me?”

He makes a sound somewhere between a huff and a laugh. “I’ll highly consider it, at least.”

The silence between them isn’t as heavy as it was last night and Maka gazes at Soul contemplatively before breaking it again. “Do you like being a vampire?”

“It’s what I am.” His hands drop back to his sides. “There is not much sense in feeling too much one way about it.”

“A practical way of looking at it for a poet,” she observes.

“I aim to surprise.” His fingers tap out a beat against the chair. “These past twenty four hours have contained more excitement than anything that’s happened in the past decade, though.”

“Being almost killed does liven things up,” Maka agrees. “But I’m glad I didn’t kill you.”

He snorts. “Your compliments need some work but I’ll take it.”

“It was more of an olive branch,” she says heatedly.

“An olive branch?”

There’s a feeling that kindles in her bones at the look on his face but she can’t quite identify it.

The sound of the door opening behind them cuts off Soul’s reply. Stein enters, face buried in a medical chart. He doesn’t appear to take notice of them, even after he takes his seat behind his desk.

After a minute of silence, Maka glances at Soul, who shrugs.

It takes another few minutes before the doctor looks up, places the file on top of the highest pile on his desk and rolls his head in a circle, neck cracking in series of small pops.

“So,” he says, finally looking at Soul and Maka. “Blood.”

* * *

“I accept the olive branch,” Soul says when they return to Maka’s car fifteen minutes later, ice chests full of blood in tow. He is heavily engrossed in his seat belt as he adds, “But I never needed it.”

* * *

The lights in Death Dive are still dark as Maka parks on the sidewalk next to the club. She switches off the ignition and watches Soul wrestle into the hoodie he brought with him. “You didn’t need that at the hospital or apartment.”

“The balcony and the hospital had shade but the journey from here to the alley means turning into a smoldering pile of ashes without it.”

She grimaces. “Painful.”

“Not nearly as attractive as turning into a walking disco ball.” Soul pulls the hood over his head and adjusts his sunglasses.

“You read the series?” she asks as they exit the car.

“Kid and I have a morbid curiosity over how literature deals with vampires. It generally ends in regret.”

Soul exhales a sigh of relief as they enter the alley but Maka’s heart starts to pound loudly in her chest. She dawdles at the edge where the dying daylight merges into shadow, wetting her lips and sucking in a breath when she peeks in and sees nothing.

“It’s safe.” Soul wanders back to the mouth of the alley, staying in the shadows. “No one’s here.”

She crosses her arms defensively. “I’m not scared.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t say that you were.”

“Well, I’m informing you that I’m not,” she says, striding into the alley.

“Good to know.” Soul falls into step with her. He pulls off his sunglasses, tugs down his hood and runs a hand through his hair, which only succeeds in making it stand up even more.

There’s an odd tingle in Maka’s hands at the sight. She swallows, pointing to a spot just ahead of them. “It was there.”

The phantom sensation of being sent flying into the air and knocked into the ground sweeps through Maka as Soul moves forward to where she points and she suppresses a shiver. She’s safe, she reminds herself, rubbing her hands up and down her arms.

She talks to hide her fear. “Are all vampires super strong or is that a myth too?”

“That is a fact,” he answers, scrutinizing the brick wall of Death Dive. “But the ability is kind of like a muscle.”

“One that you and Kid don’t seem to exercise.”

He sniffs. “I’ve had better things to do in the past two hundred years.”

She moves closer as he paces the area she’d pointed to. “Such as?”

“Eyeliner coordination, for one,” he answers. “Survival when you’re the undead is also something that takes up a large amount of your time, ironically enough.” He stops in the middle of his circling to wrinkle his nose. “All I’m getting is garbage upon garbage along with what might be the remains of someone’s dinner.”

“It’s been nearly a month so that’s not surprising,” she sighs. “Now what?”

He considers for a moment. “Maybe-”

“Maka?”

She turns at the sound of her name, squinting at the figure standing at the opening of the alley. “Liz?”

The older Thompson sister stays where she is even after Maka draws close enough to see her face, her bright pink shirt poking out from underneath the biker jacket emblazoned with Death Dive’s logo.

The self-assurance Liz usually carries herself with is replaced by a badly concealed nervousness. She tosses a glance into the alley before speaking to Maka. “What are you doing?”

Maka runs with the first thing that springs to her lips. “I was mugged. It happened yesterday so I was hoping to find my wallet or something.”

The lie tastes obvious on her lips but Liz doesn’t seem to notice. “It’s not safe to go down this way at night.”

“I know, that’s why I had a friend come with me.” She tilts her head to Soul, who had stayed behind in the shadows. “Patti told me that you had a scare too.”

Liz’s eyes linger on Soul and she swallows visibly before answering. “Yeah, I...got mugged too.” There’s a tremble in her finger as she pulls on her jacket sleeve the same way Patti does when she’s lying and her eyes slide back to Soul again.

Maka frowns. “Are you okay?”

Instead of an answer, Liz gives a low scream.

Maka twists to see Soul walking out from the shadows. She turns back quickly. “Liz-”

The other girl has vanished.

“Well,” Maka says lightly as Soul joins her at the mouth of the alley. “I think she knows what you are.”


	5. Chapter 5

The bouncer at Death Dive shakes his head at Maka before she can open her mouth. “Not here.”

Swallowing the disappointment in her mouth, she turns back and finds Soul waiting in his usual spot by the alley opening. “Still nothing. It’s been almost two weeks.”

“I think we can say she’s officially spooked then,” he says as they walk alongside the clubs that line the inner part of downtown Death City. He keeps his hood up against the lights and signs flashing down at them. “At least I don’t have to worry about getting ambushed.”

He ignores the look Maka gives him and she sighs. Liz had completely disappeared after she bolted; like his fighting skills, Soul’s ability to track wasn’t well-honed and by the time he had gotten a hold of her scent, Liz’s trail had been lost to the wind. Asking Patti for Liz’s address under the pretext of asking about Death Dive during work the next day didn’t yield anything either-the old lady who had answered the door was certainly not Liz and there wasn’t a way she could question Patti about Liz’s whereabouts without panicking her.

Meanwhile, Kid had come back to the apartment loaded with copies of autopsy records spanning back an entire year. He’d refused offers of help in organizing and sorting through the information, which ground their investigation to a near standstill.

The lights fade as they cross into the giant square that lies in the heart of downtown. The buzz of people milling alongside the food stalls and vendors that dominate the square at night is offset by the soft glow of the strings of lighted lanterns that hang from the arches spanning across the square. Maka spots the upright piano positioned in its usual corner first. “It’s here today.”

“Thank goodness.” There’s an eagerness in Soul’s step and he lets out an audible exhale as he slides onto the bench.

“Someone missed their ancient, wheezing mess of a piano.”

“Just because I complain about it doesn’t mean I don’t care.” He flips the top hat he carries expertly, placing it on the ground behind the bench.

“A touching way to show your love.” Maka takes her spot next to him.

“I didn’t say it was perfect.”

There’s more people than usual in the square tonight-by the time Soul finishes his third song, a small crowd has gathered and scattered clapping fills the pause between songs. Maka watches the crowd as he continues to play, peeking at Soul occasionally. There’s an odd but pleasant feeling in the temporary habit they’ve formed of walking around Death City at night. Most of the time is spent in the square, where Soul performs on the piano or his keyboard, or they wander through the supernatural markets in the Witch’s Eye and browse through the goods gnomes have brought from overseas or listen to the sirens that live in the fountains. Her favorite times, however, are when they go up to the roof of Soul's apartment; they never talk much then but there is a peace and beauty Maka feels then that she rarely feels elsewhere.

With Kid still working on the autopsy records and Liz nowhere to be found, there’s no reason to stay together after checking in with Death Dive. It’s not what she expected when she decided to go after her vampire attacker and she’s not sure why she doesn’t want to leave, or why Soul doesn’t comment on it, but she does know she wants it to continue.

The bell tower in the middle of the square chimes eleven as Soul’s final song comes to the end. He stands and gives a formal bow unlike the casual waves other performers give, one of the remnants of his noble Romanian heritage.

Maka picks up the top hat from the ground as the crowds begin to disperse. “I’m still curious why you rely on this when there’s a chest of gold coins in Kid’s room.”

“A chestful of gold is nothing in the face of immortality.” He closes the piano lid gently. “And concert tickets feel better when I pay for them with the money I earn”

“Fair enough.” They fall into step, heading to the food stalls. “Though that was a fancy way of saying you’re a pennysaver.”

“There also is no easier way to lose your mind when you have nothing to do but spend your money.”

“Unpleasant.”

“Kid has stories.” They stop at the stall that sells ice cream, waiting in line. “Once-”

“Maka?”

Kim stands behind them, arms linked with Jackie. There is a look of surprised glee on her face. “Why haven’t you talked about your boyfriend before?”

They both splutter; Jackie smirks, leaning snugly against Kim. “How sweet, they’re still in the blushing stage.”

“Soul is a friend.” Maka finally manages to get out.

“A friend?” he repeats in an odd voice.

She glances at him. “Aren’t you?”

“I thought so but I wasn’t sure if you did.”

“I do.”

“Ah,” he says. “Good.”

“It’s the denial stage,” Kim stage-whispers.

Maka levels a glare at her that she ignores, extending a hand to Soul. “My girlfriend is Jackie and I’m Kim, Maka’s boss.”

“The albino copycat look doesn’t work on many but you’re the exception,” Jackie adds as Soul takes Kim’s hand.

“They are very straightforward,” Maka sighs.

“A quality any person who works for a newspaper should have,” Kim rejoins.

“Argumentative too.”

Maka is distracted from Kim’s reply by Soul touching her hand. She looks at him to find him pointing somewhere beyond the food stalls.

She follows to where he points and spies the familiar blonde of Liz’s hair as she walks through an arch and out of the square. Eyes widening, she loops her arm around his and tugs him out of line, interrupting Kim. “We have to go.”

“Maka-”

“I’ll see you at work tomorrow,” she calls from over her shoulder as she breaks into a jog.

“I’m not very good at this running thing,” Soul huffs as she pulls him along.

“Consider this practice.”

Liz disappears around a corner as they cross the square and Maka pulls herself and Soul into a run, eyes fixed on where she had been. They nearly careen into another couple as they round the corner; Soul calls out apologies as Maka searches the street for Liz.

She spots her crossing the street up at the corner and lets go of Soul as she breaks into a sprint, clapping a shoulder on Liz’s shoulder as she reaches the other side.

Liz lets out a small yelp as she spins around.

Maka skids to a stop, panting. Beside her, Soul catches up, sounding like he’s drowning. The terror on Liz’s face skyrockets as Maka opens her mouth.

Between heavy breaths, she asks, “Can we talk?”

* * *

Kid is sitting in one of the armchairs when they arrive at the apartment, poring over his journal. He looks up at the sound of the door opening. “I’ve been waiting for hours, where have you been?”

“We ran into someone.” Soul points to the doorway, where Liz stands, eyeing the living room with a slightly terrified expression as she clings to Maka’s arm.

“Oh,” says Kid.

* * *

Kim slaps down an article full of edits on Maka’s desk. “So.”

Maka doesn’t move her gaze from the computer. “That’s not a very compelling tagline.”

“It must have been quite _something_ that your boyfriend whispered in your ear for you to ditch your boss.”

Casting a prayer for patience, Maka looks up. “Like I said last night, Soul is not my boyfriend and there was no whispering.”

Popping a piece of bubblegum in her mouth, Kim shrugs in a if-you-say-so kind of way. “All I know is what I saw.”

Picking up her bag, Maka shuts off her computer. “And what I know is that the work day is over.”

Kim smirks. “Make sure to tell your boyfriend hello from me.”

* * *

The sun is dipping beneath the horizon by the time Maka parks outside Soul and Kid’s apartment.

She suppresses a yawn as she gets out of the car. It had taken over an hour to convince Liz that it was safe to stay at the apartment and that neither Kid or Soul would drain her dry while she slept. Kid had been the one to offer his room this time, along with half the chest of gold coins. That, along with Maka’s reassurances, had been enough to make Liz finally agree.

Black Star is leaning against the wall of his building, whistling cheerfully. His mohawk is dyed a bright purple to match his nails. He grins when he spots Maka. “Back for a rematch?”

“Isn’t that what I should be asking you?” she retorts as she climbs up the apartment building’s steps. The door opens automatically: whoever or whatever the doorman is knows her well enough by now for that and she steps inside.

“I won’t go easy on you next time,” Black Star calls after her, trailing out on the sidewalk in front of the porch. “You can’t win when I know your trick!”

Maka smiles widely at Black Star as the door swings closed. “I guess we’ll never know since there’s not going to be a next time.”

Both Liz and Soul are waiting outside of the apartment when Maka arrives on the fourth floor. Soul’s eyes light up when he sees her but he is bowled over by Liz, who latches onto Maka’s shoulders with a vicelike grip.

Behind the apartment door comes a pained groaning.

Maka pulls out a pigtail from where it’s pinned underneath Liz’s hand. “What happened?”

“I was only trying to help.” Liz’s grip grows tighter. “I was only trying to thank him!”

Soul stares at the door as though he’s not sure if he wants to go back inside or slam his face with it repeatedly.

She repeats herself. “What happened?”

“Kid happened,” Soul answers with a deep sigh.

“I cleaned up his room when I woke up,” Liz whispers. “There were a few things that looked like trash so I threw them away.”

“She got rid of some of the records of his military campaigns,” Soul says in her ear. “Including the one that he died in.”

“Ah.” Kid’s death was a strange point of pride for him. “That explains everything.”

“Yup.”

Abruptly, the groaning within the apartment disappears. Liz squeezes closer to Maka. “Is he going to try to kill me?”

“He thinks you have the most symmetric eyebrows he’s ever seen so no.” Soul presses his ear to the door. “I think he’s stopped, actually.”

Maka reaches for the door handle. “Let’s go in then.”

“I’ll go first.” Soul beats her to the door. “In case, he’s still wigging out.”

Pushing open the door carefully, Soul enters the apartment with Maka right behind him. Liz whimpers but allows herself to be pulled in.

It’s nearly as dark as the first time Maka visited the apartment with one key exception: the darkness on the walls are moving. Kid sits on a chair in the middle of the living room, face in his hands.

Soul approaches Kid, who has taken notice of nothing. “He’s summoning the spirits of darkness,” he says, glancing at the walls and then at Maka. “I saw him do this once before when the cleaning lady reorganized his bookshelf.”

“And you live with him?” Liz says in a voice so high-pitched that it comes out as a squeak.

“It’s not as bad as when I get his eyeliner wrong.” Soul grabs Maka’s hand and tugs the two towards the hallway leading to his room. “We’ll give him an hour and see how he is.”

* * *

Soul has been marveling over Maka’s iPod for fifteen minutes when Liz lifts her head from where she’s sprawled out on the floor. “It’s been quiet for a while now.”

“And this holds how many songs?” He turns the iPod in his hands, examining it from every angle.

“Well, it depends on the amount of memory it has.” Maka shifts from where she sits next to him on the bed. “Mine is only about sixteen gigabytes.”

“Why would memory have teeth?”

She laughs. “It’s not that kind of bite.”

A pillow lands squarely in Soul’s face. Liz looks almost regretful for a moment but then she scowls. “I don’t want to be stuck in here for the rest of the night.”

Soul gazes at the iPod for another beat and then he hands it back to Maka, swinging his legs over the bed. He listens at the door before opening it. “Hopefully, he’s tired himself into a nap.”

Liz gnaws on her nail as she and Maka wait.

There’s a minute of silence and then Soul returns. He wears a slight grimace but he says to Liz, “He’s asking to see you, if that’s all right.”

Liz swallows but she dips her head, trailing after Maka as they leave the room and follow Soul into the kitchen. The living room has books scattered all over the floor and armchairs knocked over. With a nod from Liz, Maka steps to the side to stand with Soul.

“Elizabeth.” Kid sits at one of the chairs at the kitchen table, regret painted all over his face as he looks at Liz. “I deeply apologize for my behavior. It was unacceptable.”

“I shouldn’t have thrown away something that wasn’t mine.” Liz’s voice wavers before growing stronger. She sits next to Kid and faces him tentatively. “Besides, I worked retail for three years. Summoning the spirits of darkness isn’t the worst thing I’ve seen.”

“But I still should not have reacted the way I did.” Kid offers a hand to Liz. “I hope you accept my apology but I understand if you do not.”

Liz lets out a laugh for the first time. “You are so formal,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Only my mother calls me Elizabeth and that’s only when she needs money.” She takes his hand. “If you call me Liz, I’ll accept.”

Kid’s eyes widen and then he smiles. “Very well then.”

Soul coughs. “Not to ruin the happy moment but can we remember our problems now?”

“Right.” Kid sounds slightly dazed. He pats himself for his journal, pulling it out on the third attempt.

Maka and Soul take a seat at the table; she sees the map that Kid had shown her and Soul weeks ago but instead of being empty, there are dots drawn on it and dates written neatly on the opposite page, each connected to a dot by a line.

All four peer at the map for a moment. “So what is the problem?” asks Maka.

“Death, mostly.” Kid points to the dots. “These are the cases of exsanguination in the past six months. It is far too common to be a coincidence.”

Soul frowns. “Someone would have noticed that.”

“If that had been what the cause of death was listed as,” Kid says. “All of the bodies were too damaged for the human eye to detect it.” He taps the dots-they’re concentrated on the street of clubs that populate downtown, including Death Dive. “It’s clear where he likes to hunt.”

“And the dates?” Liz asks.

“I wanted to see if there was any pattern to when he hunted but it appears to all be random.”

“It’s good that we found Liz then.” The atmosphere suddenly tenses and Maka frowns. “What?”

Soul smiles humorlessly. “And that’s where we run into our second problem.”

“I don’t remember his face,” Liz says, rubbing her temples. A guilty look crosses her face. “I saw it but I blocked it all out.”

“Which is a normal reaction for traumatic events,” Kid adds in a reassuring tone as he flips the journal to a blank page. “But we might still be able to access those memories.”

Liz eyes the journal warily. “How?”

Soul clears his throat. “Hypnosis is an ability of mine.”

“No way.” Liz shakes her head so violently her hair flies in her face. She brushes it back, wagging her finger at Soul. “People come out of that thinking they’re chickens and I’m not going to spend the rest of my life clucking whenever I hear a bell chime.”

“It’s only to walk you through your memory,” Kid explains. “If you can draw his face while you’re hypnotized, then we can start hunting for him.”

Liz chews on her lip. Then, she looks at Maka. “You’ll make sure there’s no chicken business.”

“Absolutely none.”

She sighs before facing Soul. “Do it quick.”

He nods. “Try to relax.”

Maka is distracted by Kid pushing sunglasses in her hand. He wears identical ones on his own face and shakes his head when she opens her mouth. When she looks back, glasses in place, she sees why the glasses are needed.

Even through the glasses, Soul’s eyes are mesmerizing; there’s something in them that makes Maka want to draw closer, do anything so long as she can keep looking at him. She huffs angrily when someone pokes her shoulder, turning her head to tell them off.

Kid’s face swims into view. “Try not to look at him too much.”

She blinks several times, feeling a heaviness in her arms and legs that she hadn’t noticed before. Swallowing, she clenches her hands into fists and twists in her chair to look only at Liz, whose face has gone completely slack, expression slightly vacant.

When Soul speaks, his voice is nearly as captivating. “Say yes if you can hear me,” he says softly to Liz.

“Yes.”

“Close your eyes. Go back to the night you were attacked.”

Liz closes her eyes, breaths are slow and deep.

Soul shifts forward marginally. “Are you there?”

“Yes.”

“What do you see?”

“I’m in the alley by work. My shift just ended.” Liz’s eyes stay closed. “It’s dark. I can’t see much.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m walking, I want to go home.” A tiny crease forms on her brow, breathing stuttering a little. “I hear a noise and I freeze.”

“And what do you do?”

“I turn around and I see nothing, but I can feel it there. I want to run but it’s moved in front of me.”

Maka feels her nails bite in her palms.

“What happens next?”

“It grabs me by my shoulders.” The crease on Liz’s face grows and panic leaks into her voice. “I scream and it grabs me by my throat.”

Soul frowns but he continues. “How do you get away?”

Liz’s head shakes a bit. “I don’t. There’s light and it screams.”

Kid pushes a pen in Liz’s hand and places her hand on the journal as Soul asks, “Do you see his face?”

“Yes.”

“Can you describe him?”

She shakes her head more fervently. “I don’t want to see it anymore.”

“Draw him then.”

Liz’s hands sweeps across the page for several minutes and then she drops the pen. “There.”

Soul takes the journal. “When you open your eyes, you’ll come out of the trance. Do you understand?”

She nods rapidly. “Yes.”

“Open your eyes.”

Liz wobbles as she opens her eyes, looking disoriented. She rubs her face. “Did I draw him?”

Soul hesitates. “You drew something.”

“Let me see.” Liz reaches across the table to snatch the journal out of Soul’s hands. She stares at the page for a moment and then she throws it face up on the table.

The drawing is more a mess of scribbles than a face; Liz stares at it in disgust. “It looks like a baby drew this.”

“I’m proficient at drawing,” Kid says. He moves the journal out of sight. “And I can hypnotize somewhat so if you’d like-”

“Yes,” Liz says quickly. To Soul, she says, “No offense.”

“None taken.”

“Wonderful.” Kid stands. “If you want, I can drive you home and tomor-”

“I moved out of my apartment the day after it happened.” Liz crosses her arms around herself tightly. “I haven’t told Patti or anyone else because they’d insist on taking me in and I was scared he’d find me.”

“So where have you been staying?” asks Maka.

“Motels, mostly. I switch every few days.”

Kid exchanges a glance with Soul, who nods. “We have an office that neither of us use much,” he says. “We could convert into a bedroom temporarily, though you’d have to stay in my room tonight.”

Liz blushes from her neck up. “I wasn’t asking for charity.”

“You’re already risking yourself so it’s the least we can do,” Kid says firmly. “I insist.”

“Fine.” She scrutinizes a nail instead of looking at Kid as she adds in a low mutter, “Thanks.”

In the quiet that follows, Maka feels the exhaustion of the past few weeks needle at her head. She stands and fights back a yawn. “I think I’m going to head home early.”

Soul rises as well. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

Maka blinks in surprise. “All right.”

Kid raises a hand in farewell, already engrossed in plans to convert the office, while Liz pauses in braiding her hair to pat Maka on the hand. “Give Patti a hug for me, okay? I haven’t seen her in forever.”

She returns the pat. “I will.”

Both Maka and Soul are silent as they walk down the hallway. When they enter the elevator, Maka comments, “I’ve walked myself to the car in the past.”

“I know.” Soul scratches at the back of his neck. “I guess I’m going to miss having someone to talk to when I go out tonight.”

Her heart makes a weird flip at that but Maka ignores it. “How sweet.” She keeps her voice teasing in case she’s reading his words wrong. “Play your favorite piece of Beethoven for me.”

“I will.” He meets her eyes for the first time since they left the apartment. “I’d record myself if I had one of those iPods so you’d believe me too.”

She laughs. “I believe you either way.”

The question that’s been mulling in her mind weighs on Maka the rest of the way down the elevator and out to her car.

Taking out her keys, Maka faces Soul instead of getting into her car. She ignore the singing of Wolf’s Bane, which grew exponentially louder the moment they stepped outside. “Why didn’t you do to me what you did to Liz when I attacked you?”

Soul is quiet for so long that Maka wonders if he heard the question and is about to repeat herself when he speaks. “I noticed you before.”

“In Sid’s,” he clarifies at her raised eyebrow. “I don’t like looking at crowds during a song but I did and I saw you.” He breaks off. “There’s a look people get when they’re really listening to something,” he says. “You had it and it reminded me of a song I used to play when I was alive.” He shrugs in the way that he does when he’s embarrassed. “I was curious.”

Her heart seems to only operate in those weird flips from before now. “And then I tried to kill you.”

“You apologized for it.”

She laughs. “You are strangely forgiving for someone who promises death on whoever wakes you up early.”

He grins. “It works out in my favor sometimes.”

“Really?” She’s shifted close enough that his breath flutters against her bangs.

She’s about to lean forward when something hits her car with a splat. The alarm starts to sound as Soul stumbles forward, nearly knocking heads with her. He touches the back of his head and comes away with white. “Snowballs?”

Maka only has the time to open her mouth when the true deluge begins. With Soul standing in front of her, she doesn’t get hit. Pulling out her car keys, she jabs violently at it violently. “In the car!”

As they pull the doors shut, she hears Black Star crow, “I told you I wouldn’t go easy on you!”

Soul has the look of a cat that accidentally fell into the shower. “If it didn’t mean breaking our rental agreement, I’d kill them.”

She reaches over to brush some snow from his shoulder. “You still wouldn’t.”

“Maybe,” he says. “They get insufferable when it’s nearly a full moon. How did they get even find snowballs in the desert?”

“Yeti.”

“Traitor.”

They start as another barrage of snowballs rain down on Maka’s car. Gritting her teeth, she glares in the werewolves’ direction. “I think _I_ might kill them.”

“If I go, they’ll stop.” Soul’s fingers drum against the car seat. “But I have to do something before that.”

Maka turns in her seat, remembering what nearly happened before the abrupt snowball attack. “And that is?”

Soul’s gaze is fixed on the gearshift. “This.”

A sudden twist of darkness in the car makes Maka blink and when she looks at the passenger seat, a bat is bobbing in the air where Soul was sitting. She stares at him before speaking. Soul is bigger than the bats she’s seen in Death City and the crimson of his irises extend to his entire eye in bat form, his fur light brown with hints of red peeking through in the moonlight. “That’s worth more than a dollar, I think.”

He makes a sound that she thinks is laughter and Maka holds out her hand; Soul hesitates and moves to rest on her shoulder instead. His perch is tentative and Maka smiles, raising a finger to stroke the top of his head and watching as his eyes close in contentment.

After a minute, he shifts and Maka drops her hand. Soul rises from his shoulder, wings flapping as he hovers in front of her. She turns on the car and rolls down the passenger window. “Make sure to screech in their faces for a while.”

Soul moves closer and she rubs his head again, wondering if his hair is as soft. Briefly, she thinks of asking him to transform so she can test her idea but instead she pulls her hand back. “Good night, Soul.”

* * *

There’s a fluttery feeling that jolts in Maka’s stomach with every step as she climbs up the stairs to Soul’s apartment the next evening. She smoothes her skirt with her hands for the countless time and squints at her reflection in her phone, making sure the bows in her pigtails are even, before walking out of the stairwell.

Maka resists the urge to bite on her lip as she walks down the hallway, afraid of smudging her lip gloss. Relationships weren’t unfamiliar territory but she’d never felt more than a lukewarm flip-flop in her chest even in the middle of being kissed. The cartwheels her heart is doing at the moment, and for someone she’s not even dating, are completely foreign and increase in speed when she knocks on Soul’s door.

Her mouth goes dry when the door opens and she instinctively greets Soul with the same bright hello that she used on customers when she worked as a waitress in college.

His eyebrows lift slightly at the greeting but there is something like panic in his eyes as he moves aside to let her in. “You’re early.”

She busies herself with shrugging off her jacket to hide her nerves. “I’m hurt this is coming from the person who said they’d miss me last night.”

“It’s not that-”

The frantic beeping of a smoke detector cuts Soul’s answer short. A look of horror spreads across his face and he runs into the kitchen, Maka on his heels. She nearly crashes into him as he skids to a stop at the sight of smoke issuing angrily from the oven. “What did you do?”

He peels off his jacket and flaps wildly at the smoke. “I was just trying to make dinner!”

She stops him from grabbing the bowl filled with soapy water in the sink. “That’ll only make things worse,” she says as she picks up a towel and uses it to turn off the oven, backpedaling away.

Soul’s arms hang at his side as he stares at the smoke continuing to pour out. His voice comes out in a whisper. “Now what?”

“We open windows and hope the fire smothers itself out.” She strides toward the balcony doors. “What were you trying to make anyways?”

“Macaroni and cheese. Kid said it was easy to bake.”

“Perhaps too easy.” Maka flings open the doors, a gush of smoke rushing out.

From across the way, Free looks up from where he’s strumming on a guitar. “Smells like you’re barbecuing your boyfriend.”

“Shut up.”

The kitchen windows are open when she re-enters, Soul watching the now non-smoking oven intently. She stands beside him, eyes on the oven as well. “I’m touched that you tried.”

His eyes move up to the smoke marks on the kitchen wall. “Kid is going to kill me.”

“Possibly,” she says. “Where did he and Liz go anyways?”

“He took her out for dinner as an apology for last night.”

They look at each other at the same time. “What do you want to do now?”

“Maybe,” Maka says. “We order take out.”

* * *

The smell of smoke is still lingering when the Chinese food Maka ordered arrives. Soul insists on paying and tips the delivery person with a gold coin, who does not appear fazed in the slightest by Soul’s appearance nor questions the gold.

Maka digs into the container without ceremony as soon as they sit down on the couch. The windows in the front of the apartment are closed again, which only muffles Eruka’s keening in time with Free and Black Star’s instruments. She swallows the food in her mouth, reaching for the tea Soul made. “Why don’t you move out if they’re like that all the time?”

“There’s no other apartment that meets Kid’s standards.” Soul takes a long drink from his flask, playing with the extra pair of chopsticks that came in the bag. He swallows a hiccup. “And there are worse asshole neighbors out there, if you could believe it.”

“Still not worth the nightly headache.” Maka digs in her bag, pulling out the headphones she bought during her lunch break with a flourish. “They’re noise-cancelling so now you can listen to your Beethoven concerts and MCR tapes on that thing you call a music player without interruption.”

“It’s called a Walkman.” Soul takes the headphones with a kind of reverence. “How much did these cost?”

“It’s an ancient artifact and it doesn’t matter,” she says, waving away his protests. “As long as you like them, that’s what matters.” The cartwheels her heart was doing before return in full force.

“I do.” He places the headphones on the coffee table, running a hand through his hair, which has taken a mind of its own since the oven incident. “Thank you for this, I-”

His mouth closes as Maka angles herself towards him and sweeps her hand across his hair. Her fingers curl temporarily and then she pulls away slightly. “It’s soft.”

There’s a look of mild awe and shock on his face. “I use a special order conditioner.”

“It works.” She traces a finger down the side of his face. Either she runs cold or Soul is unusually warm for a vampire but his skin always feels warmer than she expects.

Soul’s throat bobs as he closes his hand over hers. His lips are inches from Maka’s and she slides her other hand behind his neck to pull him forward.

Soul hiccups and he disappears.

Maka fumbles to keep her balance, blinking in confusion before she spots the bat frozen in complete astonishment on the couch. She leans closer to be face to face with him and opens her mouth, meaning to call his name but a wheeze of laughter escapes.

She fights to gain her composure. “Soul?” Her voice quivers dangerously and the vampire covers his face in his wings. “Are you alright?”

He flops forward in answer.

Swallowing back her laughter, she pokes the bat gently, sitting up. “I promise I won’t laugh anymore.”

Either out of stubbornness or mortification, Soul doesn’t move.

“Come on.” She strokes his head the same way that she did last night. “I did kind of want to kiss you.”

He responds at that but when he transforms back, his face is still hidden in his hands. “I want to die.” His voice comes out stricken and muffled.

“You’ve already done that.”

“Again.”

She caresses his hand lightly. “That would make kissing you difficult.”

Silence tells Maka that Soul is considering her words and he lets his hands fall away. He can’t quite meet her eyes but he does twist towards her and plays with the end of her pigtail. Finally, he looks up. “I won’t hiccup this time.”

She tilts her head closer, lips brushing against his. “A good plan.”


	6. Chapter 6

“I saw Liz the other day,” Patti says as she stops by to drop off the pictures Maka requested for her latest article. “She seemed happier.”

Maka flips through the photos. “That’s good to hear.”

“She also mentioned seeing you.”

“Did she?” she says lightly as her stomach plummets slightly. Other than her sister, Patti had no connections to the supernatural side of Death City but Maka and Liz had both agreed to not talk about seeing each other to keep their investigation as discreet as possible

With a shrug, Maka gathers the pictures and stacks them in a pile. “I ran into her the other day.”

“You look happier too.” Patti aims her camera at her, squinting at Maka through it. “Jackie told me you had a boyfriend, is that why?”

“Soul is not my boyfriend,” Maka retorts. She pauses. “At least, he wasn’t when she and Kim met him.”

Patti lowers her camera. “But he is now?”

Maka doesn’t answer right away. In the week that’s gone by since they kissed, Soul has only kissed her cheek when she’s leaving for the night but he’s taken to holding her hand whenever the opportunity presented itself, which was often, so she assumes it is residual customs clinging from two hundred years ago that’s behind his distance.

The smile he wears when they’re alone replays in her mind. “Yes,” she says quietly. “I think he is.”

* * *

Soul holds the iPod he ordered last week in the palm of his hand. “It’s so tiny.”

“You might even be able to carry it around while you’re a bat.” Maka looks up from her laptop and grins at the look he gives her from where she lies sprawled out on his bed. “Don’t tell me that you haven’t thought about it.”

He shifts his gaze back to the iPod. “Maybe.”

She laughs and returns her attention to the screen. “Here.” She sits up, taking her laptop with her, and uses her other hand to tug Soul up on the bed. “Officially set up to buy all the songs you want.”

He looks at the screen. “Did you have to make my profile picture a bat?”

“It was one of the first stock pictures that came up when I googled vampire.”

“I’m still not sure what you mean by google.” He taps the laptop. “I guess that means I’ll have to get one of these.”

“One of the drawbacks of technology is having to use more technology to be able to use technology,” she answers, snapping the laptop shut. “Fortunately, I’m willing to teach you.”

“Do you accept gold coins as payment?”

“I don’t, actually,” she says. She swallows, suddenly hyperaware of her hand overlapping Soul’s. “However, I do accept kisses.”

It’s mildly amusing to see Soul short-circuit, mouth hanging opening slightly as he works through her words, as well as terrifying because she’s never been so direct about it before.

“That hardly seems like payment,” he says finally. “But I accept.”

The door flies open and Liz pokes her head in, excitement lighting up her eyes. “Come out, we have it!”

She runs back down the hallway before Maka or Soul can say anything. They exchange a glance before climbing off the bed and following Liz out of the room.

There is a pile of crumpled up pages on the kitchen table where Kid sits but he is seemingly immune to the mess for once. His hand flies in quick, precise movements across the page as Liz stands over his shoulder, talking rapidly.

“I remembered,” she says with glee, looking up as they approach. “Kid and I were talking and-” she waves her hands vaguely towards her head. “It was just there.”

“Conversation under mild hypnosis works wonders,” Kid adds, not looking away from the page.

Maka gazes at the face coming into shape under his hand, the messy golden brown hair and the pulsing red eyes that simultaneously resemble and look nothing like Soul’s. It is the faint snarl curling around his lips and the cruelty written in his eyes that she recognizes with a sudden clench of her stomach.

“He looks like an asshole,” she says.

“A soon to be double dead asshole,” Liz amends as Soul takes Maka’s hand and brushes a thumb across her knuckles. “Now what?”

“We have a face so now we see if anyone recognizes him,” Kid says, finally putting his pencil down. “Discreetly, of course, so we don’t alert our vampire.”

“And our weapon?” Liz asks.

“Silver spoons apparently,” Maka answers. She glances at Soul. “Unless you have a matching fork set.”

“I know a guy so leave it to me,” Liz says with a yawn as she stretches. “We’ll have something by tomorrow morning but for now, I’m going to bed.” She excuses herself with another yawn and a sleepy wave.

Kid watches as Liz disappears down the hallway. “I want to stare at her for a long time,” he says. “I’m not sure what that means.”

Maka exchanges a look with Soul. 

“I’d start by asking her out,” she says.

* * *

Kid is sitting on the couch applying eyeliner to Liz when Maka arrives at the apartment after sunset the next day. Her hair is gathered in a braid down her back and she wears a sleeveless pink dress.

He leans back. “All done.”

Liz opens her eyes and takes out a compact mirror from her purse, looking at her reflection. She raises a well-groomed eyebrow. “If centuries of practice is what it takes to be this good at putting on eyeliner, then I might consider becoming a vampire.”

“That is one of the advantages.” To Maka, who collapses in one of the armchairs, Kid says, “Word is already circulating about our vampire. Soul is out visiting a few vampires who might have some connections.”

She nods and takes notice of the cravat peeking out at Kid’s neck and his formal jacket. “And why are you both dressed up?”

“Kid asked me to dinner.” Liz pulls on a black leather cardigan, a light blush dusting her cheeks.

“I thought it would be a good starting point.” Kid meets Maka’s eyes as he stands and holds out a hand for Liz. “Sorry to leave you but Soul will be back soon.”

Maka points to the boxy television. “If anything I’ll watch the news on channel two.”

Liz loops her arm through Kid’s. “We’re slowly working on updating all of this,” she gestures to the apartment, “To the twenty first century.”

“In steps,” adds Kid.

“Of course.” She rolls her eyes but her smile is soft when she looks at him.

With a final wave, the two exit the apartment.

The silence in the apartment is foreign and the silence outside even more so. As she waits, Maka flips through apps on her phone idly. Soul didn’t have a phone yet but he had taken a particular liking to virtual piano app she had downloaded for him.

After a while, she stows her phone away and stretches out her legs with a sigh. Liz’s breakthrough was something she’d been hoping for for weeks, but she’s not sure if she wants what might come after. Soul had feelings for her, Maka was sure of that, but what she wasn’t sure of is whether they’d fade away when they no longer had a goal in common.

She pushes the thought away from her and rises, needing to move.

Running a hand along the keys, she takes a seat at the bench. She never had much of a musical ear-the recorder incident in the third grade still haunts her vividly-but she always had a liking for listening to the piano.

Her lips purse in concentration as she stares at the keyboard, a finger finally pressing down on a key. It sounds only briefly but the note is equal parts strong and sweet.

“You have a fondness for the G key.”

She intakes sharply, lifting her head to see Soul standing beside the piano. There’s a veiled expression on his face that she’s seen before but by the way her stomach flip flops, she doesn’t think it’s bad, at least.

Her mouth has turned dry and it takes more effort than it should to speak. “Why do you say that?”

“That was the same key you played when you first came here.” He shifts his weight to his other foot. “Can I join you?”

Maka scoots to one side in response and the hammering in her heart joins the butterflies in her stomach as Soul sits next to her. The burgundy and black button down shirt is one he’s worn before but it’s hard to look at him without a blush lighting on her face or her gaze falling to his lips so she stares at his hands resting on the keyboard instead.

“I wrote a song about you,” he says. “For you,” he corrects himself quickly. There’s a deep exhale. “Both.”

She flicks her eyes up and sees Soul is also staring at the piano.

“It’s been a while since I started a song and even longer since I finished one so I don’t know if it’s any good,” he continues, slipping sheets of folded paper from his pocket. “But I wanted to play it for you.”

The last sentence comes out more as a question and he looks at her.

Words are just out of reach for her so Maka simply nods.

Soul unfolds the pages, smoothing out the creases, and places them on the stand. With a final glance at Maka, he takes a deep breath and begins to play.

The beginning of the song is something Maka recognizes from Sid’s, when she had first Soul, and her throat closes. It morphs into a song of sharp and hectic notes that’s still melodic somehow, before slowly segueing to a sweet softness. There’s a question at the end of the song, one that she recognizes and wants to answer with a burning desire.

Soul raises his head once he finishes and meets Maka’s gaze. “So that was it,” he says as the music fades away. His hands twist around the other. “What did you th-”

The rest of his question is lost as Maka kisses him, arms sliding around his neck. He’s frozen for a moment and then his hands move to her waist as he reciprocates the kiss, pulling her closer.

They’re both slightly breathless when they separate though Maka stays pressed against Soul. “I really liked the song,” she says lightly, brushing a hand through his hair.

He laughs. “I guessed that.” He moves a finger down her face. “Still good to hear, though.” He adds casually, “That also leads into my next question.”

Maka mirrors him, shifting closer. “And that would be?”

The apartment door flies open, bouncing against the wall with a thud.

Kid staggers in. “He took her,” he says, holding a hand to his head. “He took Liz.”


	7. Chapter 7

Soul emerges with a box from Liz’s room as Maka sits with Kid. He is shaken in a way that she’s never seen before, nearly rambling. “I knew he might get tipped off but I have no idea how he found us.”

“He’s a hunter and we’re two rich kids who buy blood donations by the dozen.” Soul puts down the box on the couch. “It’s not that hard to figure out.”

Maka opens the box, pulling out a knife that gleams silver. “I assume this is what Liz meant when she said she’d take care of finding a weapon.”

“It’s small but it’ll have to do the trick.” Soul leans against the couch’s armrest next to Maka. “So what happened exactly?”

“We had just finished dinner and Liz wanted to walk around the square.” Kid’s gaze is more focused than it was when he stumbled into the apartment. “He ambushed us by an arch. It was not much of a fight, he knocked me into it and took Liz.”

It’s quiet for a moment; Maka fingers the knife handle. “Where do we even start?”

“I wasn’t knocked out,” Kid says. “Though I let him think I was,” he adds guiltily. “I melded with the shadows and followed him. Even the best hunter can’t smell a shadow.”

“So where is Liz?”

“I tracked him to an old warehouse by the train tracks.” He swallows. “Liz was still screaming so she’s alive, at least.”

Soul snorts. “A small miracle.”

“Well.” Maka returns the knife to the box and stands. “It’s not a fun night unless you add murder to the mix.”

* * *

“To sum up,” she says as they walk down the steps of the apartment building. “We have one human with no super strength to speak of, two vampires with super strength but nonexistent fighting skill-”

Kid starts. “If we could acquire a musket-”

“Which we don’t have,” she continues. “And a silver knife that only the human can touch.”

“That sounds about right,” Soul says.

“Wonderful.”

“You’re looking dead serious.” Black Star swings his legs from the tree Maka’s car is parked under, balancing a bat on his shoulders.

“I don’t have to explain the joke, do I?” he asks when no one answers.

“We have a pressing matter to attend to so we don’t have time to indulge you,” Kid says as he opens the car door.

“Such as?”

“Murdering the bloodthirsty vampire who kidnapped our friend,” answers Maka, sliding the box in the back with Kid.

Black Star pauses in swinging his legs. “I might have a newfound respect for you.” He rolls the bat off his shoulders. “I was going to head to the pitches but you need it more.”

Soul catches the bat as the werewolf tosses it down and promptly drops it.

“That is oddly kind of you,” Kid says after a beat of silence.

Black Star shrugs. “I have my moments.”

A werewolf’s howl follows them as they drive away.

“And now we have a bat,” Maka says.

* * *

Back when Death City had been nothing more than a town, the railroad tracks running through it used to be the town’s lifeblood, bringing in trade, jobs, and goods from all over.

Now, however, it is abandoned and the area around it are a mix of dying industrial complexes and half-empty warehouses. The warehouse that Kid directs them to is surrounded by a rusting chain link fence and covered in faded graffiti, most of the windows missing or broken.

Maka parks a few warehouses away, unsure how far the vampire’s range for sensing them extends.

“Do we have a plan?” Soul asks as she pulls the key from the ignition.

She takes the box from the back seat, taking out the knife. “Do you actually think any kind of plan is going to work?”

“Probably not but it’s good to have aspirations.”

“I’ll scout it out first and get Liz,” Kid says suddenly. “I’m better-suited for sneaking around anyways.”

“And we find a way to get the vampire to eat silver,” finishes Maka. She looks at Soul. “There’s your plan.”

Kid leaves them at the chain link fence lining the building, morphing seamlessly into the shadow of the warehouse.

As Maka watches the warehouse, she hefts the knife in her hand and says, “What are the chances of him getting caught?”

Soul lifts his head from examining the bat. “Approximately thirty percent.”

“You’re kinder than I am.”

He makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a snort.

Maka leans against Soul as they wait. “So the question you were going to ask,” she twists her head to look at him, “Can I ask what it was?”

Soul hesitates. “It might be contingent on our survival.”

“Ah.”

“It will be worth it if we make it out alive, though,” he promises. “Or not _dead_ dead at least.”

Finding his hand, she squeezes it. “I look forward to hearing it.”

A shadow on the ground solidifies and Kid springs up, trying and failing to not look like he’s breathing heavily.

Maka raises an eyebrow. “Well?”

“The good news is that Liz is still alive,” he begins, wiping his forehead with a towel he produces from out of nowhere. “The bad news is that she’s locked in a cage and he’s eating someone else in front of her.”

Soul frowns. “Why would he have her in a cage?”

“Some vampires like to play with their food before eating it.”

Maka gags. “Disgusting.”

“And the worst news is that he is freshly powered up now,” Kid finishes. “However, I think I could break Liz out if I had the proper... distraction,” he says, stressing the last word delicately.

Soul trades a look with Maka. “What are we going to do?” he asks. “Walk in and say hello?”

* * *

The inside of the warehouse is dark, save for the moonlight peeking through the windows.

“This is the worst idea ever.”

Maka tightens her grip on the knife, nearly crushing Soul’s hand from how hard she holds it with her other hand. “Then, you shouldn’t have said it.”

“I didn’t think you were going to take me seriously.”

“Famous last words.”

There’s a stack of crates at the back of the warehouse and chains hanging from the ceiling, a web of metal framework above their head and a ladder running up on the far side of the warehouse.

“Maka?”

“Liz?” Maka spots a dark square next to the crates standing out against the darkness.

Liz waves wildly from the makeshift cage she’s stuck in. “How did you find me?”

A shadow moves from the top of the pile of crates and the face of the vampire that’s been haunting Maka for months comes into view. “Name’s Giriko,” he says breezily. “You’re going to die.”

Anger burns hot on her tongue. “You don’t recognize me?” she goads, letting go of Soul’s hand.

The vampire tilts his head, scrutinizing her. Then he claps his hands together. “The little angel from the Halloween club,” he exclaims, leaping down from the crates. “I had burns from your garlic bread for weeks.”

She swallows as he strides closer, spying Kid materialize by Liz’s cage.

“And who is this?” he says, looking at Soul. “Friend of yours?”

He stops just out of the range that Maka could feasibly lunge and stab him, winking at her as she glances from the knife to him.

“Boyfriend actually,” Soul corrects before throwing the bat at Giriko.

“You’re not supposed to throw it!” Maka shrieks as she darts forward.

“I panicked!” he yells as Giriko picks up the bat and chucks it back at Soul, hitting him squarely in the chest.

He falls flat on his back with an “oomph” but leaps up, bat in hand.

Maka swerves out of an attempt to stab Giriko as he twists towards her with a supernatural speed, narrowly dodging a swipe of a clawed hand from him.

Giriko’s gaze falls on Kid, who is fighting with the lock of Liz’s cage. “You,” he growls.

“Me,” Kid agrees, disappearing into the shadows as Giriko makes a leap for him.

Soul comes running up behind Giriko, bat raised, as Maka charges at him again. The vampire sidesteps her easily as he plucks the bat out of Soul’s hand with a single yank, hurling it through an open window.

Soul stares after the bat. “That is unfortunate,” he comments, before turning into an actual bat.

Giriko snarls as Soul flies at his face, swatting at the air wildly.

Maka pants heavily as she watches Giriko try to catch Soul, trying to find an opening, and is about to re-enter the fray when she hears Kid call her name. Keeping an eye on Giriko, she backpedals to him and the cage. “What?”

“The lock won’t open.” He tugs on it, as if to prove his point.

“Seriously?” She brings down the knife in a determined swoop and the lock pops off, landing on the ground in a clatter.

Liz swings open the door and is clambering out when Maka realizes it has gotten too quiet. She looks up to see Giriko glaring at them while Soul flaps frantically at his face.

“Run.” Maka pushes on Liz’s arm, eyes still fixed on Giriko. “Run, now.”

Kid bolts away from the cage to meet the vampire, clamping a hand around Giriko’s shoulder to keep from being tossed away like a rag doll, while Liz darts behind the crates. Behind the two appears Soul, breathing heavily.

Maka springs forward as Giriko wraps his hand around Kid’s neck. “Soul!”

“Already on it,” Soul answers in a strained voice, pulling back the clawed hand that Giriko is attempting to plunge into Kid’s brain. He latches his arm around Giriko’s elbow and holds on for dear life. A groan escapes from his mouth while Maka dances around the three, trying to get a good angle on Giriko.

Kid yanks on Giriko’s arm in vain, other hand pushing on his shoulder as Giriko attempts to bite his face. “Not to be a bother, but I’m dying,” he gasps.

Maka jumps on a crate that the vampires struggle around. “Hold him still!”

“We’re trying,” they shout in unison.

Inhaling, Maka leaps and feels the knife bite flesh.

The howl that Giriko lets out reverberates in her hand as she drives the blade in as far as she can go and backs away. The vampire gives another unearthly shriek as he lets go of Kid, falling to his knees as inky black spreads from his wound across his body.

He glares up at the three when he starts to flake away and, with a final roar, lunges towards them as he turns completely into dust.

The three stare at where Giriko had been in utter silence for a long moment, starting when they hear a noise from the back of the warehouse.

“That is some allergic reaction,” Liz says as she peeks out from behind the crates.

* * *

“So the question you wanted to ask me,” Maka says casually after they had returned to the apartment. She props herself up on her elbow, gazing down at Soul where he lays next to her on his bed. “Can you ask it now?”

“Considering we’re still alive, yes.” Soul twines his fingers with hers. “Would you like to go to a concert with me sometime next week?”

Maka cups his face in her hand. “I wouldn’t love anything more.”


End file.
